A New Life
by SummertimeRose
Summary: This is the sequel of 'Broken Bridge'. Quasimodo is finally free from the bell tower. He now spends his days living in the Court of Miracles with Jocelyna. He adores it there but disaster soon comes in the form of Minister Marcuse Frollo who plans to find and kill Quasi to avenge his brother. Some new faces appear too! Set five months after the 'At Last' chapter. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1- Change

**Chapter 1- Change**

The moon was just beginning to fade into the pastel sky as Jocelyna lay wide awake in her sleeping wagon.

She had awoken early and couldn't get back to sleep. She had spent the last half hour lying on her side, staring at the wooden wall that featured the carvings she had made every year on her son's birthday. All numbers, one to twenty, were still clearly visible on its surface. The carving of the number, '20' still maintained its position as the last of the numbers on the wall since her son had not aged another year just yet. But she no longer felt the need to carve her son's age on the inside of her sleeping wagon for she was now finally able to experience each of his years with him. He was home at last.

Quasimodo had, indeed, been brought back home.

It had been five months since she had brought Quasimodo to the gypsy camp, the Court of Miracles, after he had joyfully accepted her offer in that little room in the Cathedral. She was delighted by the way he was approached by the fellow gypsies.

Nearly the entire camp came to greet Quasimodo at the entrance. Just like the way he was embraced by the townsfolk earlier, Quasimodo was met with cheers, applause, whistles and many pats on the back. Everyone in Paris knew of Quasimodo's valour so it was no surprise that the gypsies, though lived in hiding from Frollo so they rarely left the camp, knew about it too. But that has changed now. Frollo's gone. There was no need to hide anymore. The gypsies were free.

Jocelyna could tell Quasimodo felt more comfortable with every day he was at the camp. Of course he would feel shy and uneasy at first but everyone was so nice to him that he soon began to feel almost confident around the gypsies. He was becoming more self-assured in talking to everyone and having casual conversations with them.

He had already made many friends in the camp which he loved to converse with during meal times and generally throughout the day. He was soon becoming very popular. He was even becoming less aware of his appearance- it seemed no one cared.

Jocelyna had introduced Quasimodo to her two closest friends in the camp, Clopin and Esmeralda. As she had expected, they both welcomed him immediately and after getting to know him, grew immensely fond of him (Clopin apologised greatly to Quasimodo for his part that led to that dreadful event at the Festival of Fools). It really wasn't difficult to adore the young man- even after one small, simple conversation with him. Many times someone would come up to Jocelyna to congratulate her on having such an amazing and kind-hearted son. As ever, she couldn't agree more.

Jocelyna, with help from the other gypsies, had built a brand new wagon for Quasimodo to sleep in. She even knitted several blankets for him. This particularly reminded her of twenty years ago when she had knitted a few small blankets for Quasimodo when he was a baby. She deliberately chose light turquoise thread to match his eyes.

She had no idea what the time was but she could tell it was just beginning to break into dawn, as she faintly heard the occasional shuffling of feet or the muffled talk from those around her which signalled most of the gypsies were now awake too. She also heard from the wagon to her left someone give a gentle yawn and a soft sigh. She smiled to herself, knowing that it was Quasimodo. It was an absolutely wonderful feeling waking up every morning and knowing that her son was just a yard away from her rather than in the Cathedral which always felt so far away.

Though Quasimodo no longer lived in Notre Dame's bell tower, he did still attend to his daily duties of ringing the bells. Every morning, well before anyone else was awake, he would leave the Court of Miracles to ring the bells at the Cathedral to signal the start of a new day.

Quasimodo had not visited the Cathedral this morning, as it was Sunday and, thus, the day of rest which meant the Paris citizens could lie in until mid-morning mass which Quasimodo would ring for later on in the day. Like he used to, he would also ring for other church events that took place throughout the day, every day. One could say this would get quite irritating; having to walk to and thro several times a day every day to ring the bells but Quasimodo loved it. Not only was it a chance to get some fresh air which he was deprived of for twenty years but a chance to visit his old friends, the bells, which had stood by him and got him through those long, lonely years of isolation.

The bell tower was pretty much empty now. On the day of his move to the Court of Miracles, Quasimodo went up to there to collect certain things to have at the camp. The bell ringer did not possess many things at all.

For starters, Quasimodo never really had a bed. For twenty years, his pillow was merely one of his old tunics that he had worn years ago before it got too small for him and his mattress was simply the cold, hard, sometimes wet, wooden floor of the bell tower. Frollo never provided the young man with a blanket or anything that passed more as a pillow.

The only things Quasimodo took from the tower that day were his tunics- all identical to each other and all as tattered as the next- and his various pairs of brown hose and navy blue shoes which were all worn out from being washed so frequently of dust and debris. He decided he would keep his miniature city and the miniature carvings in the bell tower. He was, at last, no longer at a distance from the townsfolk so he felt he didn't need his carvings to feel a part of the real Paris citizens. Plus, he always liked to feel that there was still a part of him in the bell tower when he wasn't there to ring the bells. He admitted to himself that it was silly to see it like this but the bell tower was the only home he knew for twenty years; despite it being his prison, he still felt an attachment to it.

Jocelyna decided it was time to greet the day. After completing her daily morning routine of washing, dressing and brushing her hair, she made her way across the large camp and to the wooden tables for breakfast. The area was now buzzing.

She instantly spotted Quasimodo amid the great crowd of hungry gypsies. After all, he was hard to miss.

She walked forward to see that he was sitting on a table next to the self-proclaimed gypsy leader and her best friend, Clopin and sitting opposite the beautiful 26 year old gypsy dancer, Esmeralda. From what she could see from the plates aswell as smell, breakfast that morning appeared to be sliced grapefruit with pine nuts. grapefruits were a rare delicacy in the camp, as they were always difficult to find. It was her absolute favourite.

After waiting in the long que to receive her portion of grapefruit and nuts, Jocelyna made her way to the tables. She was greeted with cheery hellos as she took a seat next to Esmeralda which had her seated opposite Clopin. Quasimodo gave her a warm, welcoming smile as she sat down. Jocelyna's heart never failed to give a joyful leap every time her son smiled at her.

"_Bon matin_, we were just talking about making Rhayeder here some new clothes. You know, gypsy attire," Clopin now turned to address Quasimodo, "honestly son, you can't wear those boring green tunics forever. It's time." He turned back to Jocelyna, "so we need your opinion."

She glanced at Quasimodo with a _here we go again_ look. He chuckled at this along with Esmeralda who had caught her look too. Clopin, on the other hand, was oblivious since he was far too busy describing this fantasy outfit of his.

"-I'm thinking... purple and orange tunic...green shoes with peachy, orange rims and...yellow tights." Quasimodo had been drinking his cup of water but he spat a mouthful out upon hearing the last bit. Water was now comically dripping down his chin and front. Esmeralda, Jocelyna and others closest to them laughed heartily at the amusing sight. Clopin, however, looked glumly at him.

"What? We need to spice it up a bit!" With no sign of approval from Quasimodo, who was now wiping his chin with the back of his large hand, Clopin hastily added, "alright, fine...maroon tights then." All three jokingly sighed in disagreement. It was clear _that_ conversation was over.

The bell ringer loved every bit of his days in the camp but he especially enjoyed the meal times. The atmosphere was always incredible. There was the occasional sound of violins and lutes that filled the camp with sweet, harmonious music.

Every single person was more than willing to engage in conversation with him and happily ask how he was doing in this brand new environment. He had never felt so at ease during mealtimes.

Back in his days in the bell tower, if he was allowed it, a meal would be the most awkward and uncomfortable moment for him. There was usually a painful, palpable silence between Frollo and himself or an even more painful lesson which either consisted of him reciting incredibly long Bible verses to Frollo, reciting the alphabet and the long words linked to each letter or the most frequent lesson of declaring to Frollo what he had been taught his whole life- that he was a hideous monster.

After a few minutes of happily eating their grapefruit and nuts, Esmeralda enquired to Quasimodo, "so when are you first ringing the bells today, Rhayeder?"

The young man had just that second stuffed a large forkful of grapefruit in his mouth so he chewed hastily in order to answer her question as quick as possible so as to not seem rude.

"Um...mid morning," he answered simply to minimise the chance of accidently spitting out any remains as he swallowed the last bit of fruit. Once all trace of fruit was gone, the young man added, "I actually want to leave a little earlier. It's just that the archdeacon has asked me to help him finish off fixing the Cathedral's pillars. They... er...broke..." he added sheepishly, remembering it was him that had completely demolished the Cathedral pillars five months ago. Quasimodo bowed his head in shame. He had never wanted to wreck the pillars of beautiful Notre Dame Cathedral but there was someone that he just couldn't bear to lose. It was a sacrifice.

Clopin gave Quasimodo a sly wink and a nudge in admiration of what he, too, had witnessed just five months ago on the daybreak of Jocelyna's planned execution.

The rest of breakfast went by with the four just making general conversation about absolutely anything. It was these simple meal times that Quasimodo loved the most. There was never a need to think too much or be constantly prepared for the arbitrary beating. General conversation was what he had always wanted with his master but something that he was never able to experience until his arrival at the Court of Miracles.

It was true, everything had changed and Quasimodo couldn't have been more thrilled.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **

Well, here you go guys, the sequel is here! Woo woo!

You may have noticed that I used 'Quasimodo' when referring to Quasimodo rather than 'Rhayeder'. He is known now as Rhayeder by everyone in the story and they call him by that name (e.g. Clopin referring to Quasi as 'Rhayeder') but I just figured to use his old name in the narration. With writing 'Broken Bridge' I got so used to referring to Quasi as 'Quasimodo' so it was kinda a bit weird going from 'Quasimodo' to 'Rhayeder' so quickly. I also felt you might now know Quasi more as 'Quasimodo' rather than him as 'Rhayeder', as there is more Quasimodo, the isolated outcast than Rhayeder, the loved baby who was featured in like two chapters.

Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter, I'll post more very sooooon! :-D

Reviews would be awesome :-D

Also, 'Broken Bridge' is the prequel to this story for those who haven't read it yet (should be in this list somewhere...). This story will make much more sense if you do decide to take a look at it. :)


	2. Chapter 2- Revenge

**Chapter 2- Revenge**

_The Paris Minister of Justice, Judge Claude Frollo has passed away. Reported to have been killed at Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris. Cause of death: UNKNOWN. _

Marcuse Frollo sat hunched at his desk, re-reading the parchment which lay limply on the surface in front of him.

The room was dark aside from the faint glow of a candle which sat on the top left hand corner of the oak desk. It flickered ever so slightly with the occasional splinter of dust that landed onto its tip, causing Marcuse's eyes to momentarily appear amber whenever the flame would briefly tilt his way.

Marcuse cupped his face with both of his pale, skinny, lifeless hands before ever so slowly sliding his spider fingers up his face and weaving them through his coarse, greying hair, separating the strands and causing the shadow behind him to resemble a tree rather than a man.

This man was every inch the same as Claude Frollo. His hands were just as cold and lifeless, his skin just as pale, grey almost, and his eyes just as button-like and sunken. The two brothers were similar in every way possible. Some would even think them twins were it not for the seven year age gap which allowed Marcuse to appear a little less statue-like than Claude.

The miniscule differences on the exterior between the two brothers were well made up by their interior. Marcuse possessed the same stone-cold, hollow personality as his brother. If that wasn't enough, he was also a minister, the minister of Justice of Toulouse, so exercising power and control was something Marcuse also craved and fed off. It could be said that Judge Claude Frollo isn't dead at all- his immortal soul is also rotting in Marcuse.

Through the crisp silence in the candle-lit room came a faint, barely audible, knock that issued from the door at the other end. Marcuse did not flinch one bit from the abrupt disturbance of the bitter silence but merely averted his eyes from the parchment and allowed his pupils to dilate as he let his eyelids fall.

"Come in," he spoke at last into the near darkness. His voice also carried the spine-chilling quality that was so evident in Claude Frollo's thunderous voice.

The door slowly creaked open to reveal a heavily built, uniformed guard in its wide frame. He had a thick line of stubble across his boulder-like chin which looked so hard they may as well have been spikes.

"He's here, your honour," announced the muscular guard simply into the murky room.

"Bring him in," declared Marcuse, monotonously.

The guard nodded faintly before leaving the door ajar. A few seconds later, the door creaked open again to reveal a much thinner guard, wearing grey uniform with the occasional tinplate that had been fastened over his knees and elbows. He had thick, brunette hair that was covered with a simple tin helmet and a moustache that was just as thick. This guard looked nervous but tried to appear as collective as possible.

The minister got up from his hunched position at the desk and slowly turned around to face the guard that stood trembling slightly in the doorway. Marcuse did not utter a single word as he lifted the candle from the desk and made his way around the room, raising the candle so that it met with the half dozen unlit torches that decorated the room. Once he had finished, the room now completely lit, Marcuse ushered briefly for the guard to step further into the room.

Marcuse Frollo began to pace the floor with his long, slender legs before enquiring to the guard, "I assume you know why I have summoned you here this evening?" The guard thought for a moment before nodding his head.

"I have been told you have information, information concerning the death of my brother, Claude Frollo. I trust you were an official to him," spoke Marcuse as though assuming the guard had no idea why he was there despite his nod. The guard nodded once again, too nervous to speak. It was clear the guard knew of Marcuse Frollo and how very similar he was to Judge Claude Frollo himself.

"Tell me everything you know," demanded Marcuse whilst retaining his calm and relaxed tone. The guard inhaled deeply, readying himself for what he knew would have to be a long speech in order to satisfy the minister.

Finally, the guard found a voice inside of him. "I saw it, your honour. Every bit of it. It was..._him_," added the guard whilst making a face of disgust and hate. The minister looked near to intrigued. The guard continued, "It was the demon of Notre Dame Cathedral, my Lord. The monster threw 'im clean off the highest balcony. I swear, your honour, I swear I saw it."

Marcuse Frollo merely looked at him. Of all the things he expected, he had not been expecting that. Who was this demon? This monster of Notre Dame Cathedral? He had never heard of a demon dwelling in the Cathedral. The idea was preposterous, absurd. How could an unholy demon live in such a holy, religious place? The minister wanted to know more so he told the guard firmly to explain himself.

The guard continued his speech. "He's killed other men, your honour, Claude Frollo's men. Anyone- or _thing_- of this nature can't be stopped; he'll kill more innocent souls, just like he killed the innocent soul of Judge Claude Frollo." The guard exhaled in relief of having finished.

Marcuse now began to feel very angry. How dare this beast take away the innocent life of his brother. After taking a while to think, he asked, "does this creature have a name?"

The guard narrowed his eyes solemnly before speaking slowly for dramatic effect, "Quasimodo."

That was all Marcuse Frollo needed to know so he firmly gestured for the guard to leave the room.

He wasn't going to let that monster live, not after the unforgivable crime he had committed.

He was going to get his revenge, of that he was certain.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Well, there's your villain for the story- did you guess? :P

Notice how Marcuse showed no emotion upon hearing for the first time about the death of his _brother_, Frollo. Yeah, that's what he's basically like- hollow.

Just a random note- I had that thin, scary (at first) guy from _Ratatouille_ in my head while I was writing this chapter so Marcuse is based slightly off of him :-D He's always reminded me of Frollo.


	3. Chapter 3- Just another day of freedom

**Chapter 3- Just another day of freedom**

It was approaching around the time of mid morning when Quasimodo ventured out the entrance of the gypsy camp and off towards the Cathedral in order to ring the bells for mid morning mass. Every now and again, Jocelyna would wave him off at the entrance or stop whatever she was doing to smile at him as he left. She absolutely loved seeing him just leave the camp and head out into the open world as a free man.

It was a beautiful March day. It was certainly promising to be a hot one, as the sun, though still morning, was already pretty high up in the nearly cloudless sky.

Quasimodo adored the daily trip he made from the camp to the Cathedral. Ever since accepting him, the Paris folk always greeted the young man cheerfully if they ever passed him in the streets. Some even gave him free food from their stalls which he always politely rejected since he didn't want to take them away from a sell. Though he had received this wonderful treatment for five months now, Quasimodo still wasn't used to it at all. Thank the twenty years of feeling absolutely hated and rejected for that. But he was no longer known throughout Paris as the deformed bell ringer of Notre Dame Cathedral, but as a hero.

The archdeacon greeted him with the same cheerful tone as the townsfolk when he spotted the young man limping across the square that positioned itself in front of the glorious Cathedral. Quasimodo still found it strange looking at the Cathedral from the outside rather than looking down at it from above in the bell tower. It really was as magnificent as everyone described it to be.

So Quasimodo went with the kind archdeacon to the upper middle part of Notre Dame to finish off piecing the last of the stone pillars back together again. Quasimodo had offered countless times before to do it by himself as punishment for having broken them in the first place but the archdeacon wouldn't hear of it since he very much admired the young man's incredible bravery for doing what he did.

Once the two had added the cement, the pillars were finally fixed. It was as though it never happened. But both the bell ringer and the archdeacon knew very well that that was not exactly true at all. That moment of Quasimodo's outstanding bravery had changed so much.

Having gathered up the left over bits of cement and pieces of rock, their work was done so the kind archdeacon said a goodbye to Quasimodo that was just as cheery as his greeting as the bell ringer set off towards the staircase to ring the bells.

Just like seeing the Cathedral from the outside, Quasimodo found it strange opening and closing the bell tower door upon his several entries and exists a day. He was so used to it being bolted and locked that merely pushing it open was surreal. Frollo had not locked the bell tower door on that awful day when he had dragged Jocelyna off to the Palace of Justice so the tower door remained unlocked and open, making it very easy for the kind bell ringer to access it.

Once he had climbed the long step ladder that led straight to the high bell ringing platform, Quasimodo beamed at the sight of all the many beautiful bells perfectly positioned in front of him. They had not changed a bit in five months.

"Good morning," he whispered gently to them as he did every first time he used them. He always thought he heard them utter their greetings back to him.

And so, as ever, Quasimodo positioned himself under the largest bell, _Emmanuel_, ready to begin the ring for mid morning mass. With one swift tug of the rope with his broad arms, the immensely heavy bell was already rapidly swinging from side to side. A powerful, haunting melody followed closely after which were soon joined by the many other bells in the tower- _Sophia_, _Adelaide_, _Josephine_, even _Big Marie_.

It was always such a thrill ringing the Cathedral bells. Like he'd always felt, it was the one place where his deformity didn't exist, when it didn't restrain or trap him in any way. The only freedom Quasimodo ever got in the dark bell tower was when he rang those gorgeous bells. During his days in the tower, it was the bells that never mocked or scorned him for his appearance. 

After several minutes of continuous ringing, Quasimodo let go of the ropes and let each bell finish off their piece in the melody until all that was heard was the ghost sound of humming that vibrated from their mouths.

He then gave a satisfied smile before jumping clean onto a beam far below and, using his one muscular arm, swing himself like the motion of the bells and catapult himself off, landing firmly on his feet miles below. Ever since being able to accomplish them years ago, he never missed the chance to do these acrobatic moves about the tower- they were just as thrilling as ringing the bells.

The Cathedral was now completely full with churchgoers, assembling in for mass. He loved that he could just wonder down from the bell tower and acknowledge and greet everyone who were either standing or sitting in the Cathedral hall, ready for the service to begin.

Of course, everyone spotted him almost instantly as soon as he made his way down from the south tower steps and into the foyer. Nearly everyone beamed at him in greeting or shook his hand as he limped past them. He decided he would perhaps never be able to get used to this new wonderful treatment; it was astonishing every time.

Not much happened for the rest of the morning and afternoon once Quasimodo made the short walk back from the Cathedral to the camp.

Jocelyna had taught him a few things since joining the gypsy camp, like cooking which he had never tried before but immediately loved. Everyone gave him enthusiastic compliments and looks of gratitude and delight when he'd made lunch for the camp one afternoon so he seemed pretty good at it.

She had also tried to teach him to knit and make the clothes but this didn't prove nearly as successful as the cooking, as his hands were too large for the thin thread and, no matter how hard he tried not to, he always bent the delicate needles.

What _was_ successful, even more so than the cooking, was playing with the children that lived in the camp too. They were used to him by now and loved his company so Quasimodo adored spending time and playing games with them. Jocelyna beamed at the sight of him being so good and gentle with them. It was clear he had a way with kids.

That afternoon, having spent a long lunch sitting at the tables and chatting with Jocelyna, Esmeralda and Clopin aswell as his many other friends, a small crowd of the gypsy children approached Quasimodo and begged him to come play with them. Both Esmeralda and Jocelyna, even Clopin, melted at their sweetness.

After the three enthusiastically ushered him to go with them, the bell ringer allowed the oldest one of the group to take his large hand and lead him into the big empty space in the camp where the parties and dances usually took place. Many of the gypsies even stopped what they were doing at that moment to look on. They knew Quasimodo was wonderful with the children so it was always a pleasure to watch him with them.

The oldest child, a boy, was named Saroyan. He looked about 10 years old. He was the son of the two main cooks in the camp and perhaps the most outgoing and energetic child Quasimodo had ever seen.

"Let's play tag!" Saroyan announced to the group of excited children. He was met with instant cheers by the others who then immediately broke away from the group and began sprinting to the other sides of the square in their attempt to avoid being tagged first.

Saroyan was the only child who stayed put so he glanced maliciously at Quasimodo before darting up to him and punching him on his broad arm, screaming, "TAG!" He then stopped suddenly to nurse his knuckles from their collision with the bell ringer's rock-hard arm. He had momentarily forgotten how painful hitting or punching him was.

Saroyan had been looking down at his hand to check for any signs of bruising when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Quasimodo limping hastily towards him which made him hurtle to the other side of the square. He clearly thought Quasimodo was going to tag him but the young man was actually coming to check if he was alright but upon seeing that Saroyan was fine from his speedy get away and continuous laughter, the bell ringer decided now to give chase.

Saroyan had only been sprinting around the space for only a couple of seconds when Quasimodo reached him and declared that he was tagged by patting him gently on the shoulder. Saroyan let out a cry of outrage before comically stomping his feet. Quasimodo couldn't help chuckling.

The sight of the bell ringer playing with the gypsy children was so lovely. The tables had a pretty good view of the empty square that him and the children were playing on so everyone ate their lunch whilst happily watching them. Jocelyna couldn't stop smiling from seeing Quasimodo so happy as he was now running away from a girl that was chasing him, deliberately slowly as the girl looked fairly small and brittle.

Quasimodo and the children were playing for a good couple of hours. The other gypsies had now left them be as they attended to their daily duties and various activities.

After playing with the children for most of the afternoon and talking with his many friends, Quasimodo set out in the early evening once more to ring the bells for evening mass.

It soon wasn't long before dinner was cooked and the gypsies were all filed around the tables in the main section of the camp once again.

The meal that evening was hog roast which the bell ringer had never tried but he knew he'd like it from the beautiful smell that was gradually filling up the camp.

Esmeralda spotted Quasimodo at the end of the que so she quickened her walk to make sure he was standing behind him without looking as though she was pushing in.

"Hey, Rhayeder!" spoke the beautiful gypsy with a bright smile once she secured her place in the line. Though Quasimodo hadn't known Esmeralda that long, he was always very fond of her smiles which were always frequent around him.

"Hi, Esmeralda," he replied, reciprocating her smile that was just as bright.

The two chatted constantly whilst standing in the que. Despite only knowing each other for five months, they got on like a house on fire.

They finally reached the tables where the plates of sliced hog roast and cabbage cuttings were being dished out. Quasimodo greeted the two cooks with a cheerful hello and a warm smile as he always did which was unfailingly returned. He was just about to step out the que once he'd been served when he noticed that his portion was considerably bigger than the regular portions everyone else received.

"Um, excuse me, sorry, I think you've given me too much-" explained the bell ringer as he extended the plate for them to take it back.

But both cooks just beamed at him before the female cook, the wife of the male cook, declared, "it's the least we can do for you, Rhayeder. You're always so good with our son and the other children. Most of them have had it rough, we really can't thank you enough."

Quasimodo was touched, really touched. After one more failed attempt of insisting he have a much smaller portion, he surrendered, deciding he'd share it out with his table. So, he thanked them sincerely, waited for Esmeralda to receive her own portion, and headed to the tables behind them.

Jocelyna and Clopin were already seated with their portions when the two sat down opposite them. Jocelyna glanced at her son's large portion before raising her eyebrows and joking, "wow! Hungry are you?" before laughing.

The young man gave her a sheepish smile and responded, "the cooks were grateful for me playing with their son and the other children," as he began sharing out several meat slices to various plates around him.

Clopin decided to join in on the conversation. "You do have a knack for the little ones, don't you," he declared through a mouthful of cabbage. Both Jocelyna and Esmeralda nodded in agreement.#

Esmeralda and Clopin were now looking at the young man with very strange expressions.

Having finished dishing the meat slices out, he caught sight of those strange looks. He simply looked at them, confused.

"What?" he asked before taking a drink of water.

"Well...have you ever thought of...yourself..." started Esmeralda but Quasimodo didn't catch on since he furrowed his eyebrows, still looking bemused at the two.

"...Settling down," finished Clopin simply once he had swallowed the large mouthful of hog roast he had just shoved in.

Now Quasimodo understood what they were getting at.

"Oh," was all he could utter. He looked at Jocelyna who leant over to gently touch his arm which had been resting on the table.

"Well...come on, son, you can't stop us now we're on the topic. You've been here, what... five months now? Is there someone special here?" asked Clopin a little too loudly for Quasimodo's liking. The young man could feel his cheeks burning. Being the slightly ignorant individual that he was, Clopin continued, "well..." but Jocelyna told him to stop upon seeing Quasimodo look incredibly embarrassed. Clopin suddenly looked satisfied when he saw Quasimodo's crimson cheeks as though that was a sign that there _was_ someone like that in his life.

But Clopin couldn't have been more wrong. There really was no one like that in the young man's life since Quasimodo had never thought about that sort of thing. Ever.

Of course, he had seen from his bell tower couples walking hand in hand by the Seine or sitting closely on a bench together so he knew it happened to people. He was just certain it would never happen to him because of his appearance so he never before took the time to think about it. Having the topic suddenly and unexpectedly brought up like that came as a shock to Quasimodo. He was only embarrassed because pretty much the entire table had now turned to look his way, anticipating some kind of an answer.

Jocelyna knew Quasimodo didn't want to answer, as she saw he had bowed his head low as though trying to appear invisible, so she swiftly changed the topic.

Talk of him finding love had stuck in Quasimodo's mind for the rest of the evening. Even when he went to his sleeping wagon for bed, Quasimodo kept thinking about it. He didn't know why but he just couldn't get it out of his mind. Having spent several hours considering the prospect for the first ever time in his twenty years, he was now able to decide whether or not he actually wanted it.

He did.


	4. Chapter 4- Pursuit

**Chapter 4- Pursuit**

They say the devil comes in many forms. If there was one form the devil took, it was the form of Marcuse Frollo.

Some could say he was even worse than Claude Frollo himself, the very same man who tortured the innocent for pleasure and murdered anyone who wasn't his definition of 'perfect'. You would not want to get in the way of someone deemed more ferocious than a man who committed frequent acts of homicide for no reason.

With his charcoal-coloured robes and smoke-coloured travelling cloak, Marcuse Frollo slowly and civilly made his way from the dungeon exit to his great black Stallion.

It was late evening so the sky was pitch black with the odd cloud that was just as dark as the dim canvas it was resting on. The moon was visible through the muted sky but it was small, as though cowering away from Marcuse.

Marcuse Frollo remained untouched by the cold March air, as he had just finished beating a beggar from within the dungeon which had made him fairly warm- if warm was something the minister _could_ feel.

Two heavily-built guards stood at each side of the great, beast-like horse.

"Good evening, your honour," spoke the guard on the right side as he handed Marcuse a brown satchel containing various weapons peeping from its rim. Having strapped the satchel firmly onto the side of the saddle, Marcuse hoisted himself up onto the horse's broad back.

It was going to be a long trip but one Marcuse knew would be worth it.

Once the minister was firmly in place, the two guards heaved themselves onto their own smaller horses which were positioned at either side of Marcuse.

With one hard kick onto the beast's side, Marcuse was galloping off into the shadows- the two guards tailing close behind.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Heeeeee's on the run! :S


	5. Chapter 5- Interesting

**Chapter 5- Interesting**

No one spoke of that topic anymore for the rest of Sunday and the next week so Quasimodo soon forgot about it. Besides, there was no point thinking about something that he knew he'd never in his life be able to have.

That week went by very quickly, as very soon it was Sunday again. Shortly, before everyone in the camp knew it, it was April- the beginning of spring.

Quasimodo was very excited that spring had finally come since it would be the first spring of being outside and free. He could now experience the beautiful month with everyone else- seeing the flowers bloom and appreciating the sun by soaking up its rays. It was going to be a good month.

One afternoon after another long and wonderful breakfast, Jocelyna offered for Quasimodo to accompany her to the stalls that glittered the town square every year on the first weekend of spring. Quasimodo was delighted and accepted immediately by giving her enthusiastic nods which made them both laugh in recollection of Jocelyna doing the same thing several times during their first proper meet in the bell tower months ago.

It was such a beautiful day which both Jocelyna and Quasimodo commented on the minute they'd left the entrance and were out in the open. The sound of birds tweeting met their ears whilst the smell of newly-blossomed flowers met their noses as they began the short walk to the square.

The two had been making their way to the town square for a few minutes when Jocelyna said to her son, "I'm really glad you wanted to come with me. I just feel we haven't really had a chance to talk just us for a while."

Quasimodo couldn't agree more. He, too, had been feeling the exact same thing. It was a lot harder to talk to Jocelyna when there were a hundred others who wanted to talk too.

"Yeah, I know, I-I've really missed that," replied the bell ringer as he looked at her, giving her a warm smile.

Jocelyna beamed at him, truly touched.

"I'm still getting used to just how many people there are at the camp!" Quasimodo laughed.

Jocelyna returned the laugh instantly. "Yes, that was definitely something I found difficult to get used to when I first moved there. My last gypsy camp didn't have nearly as many people."

A question suddenly rose in Quasimodo's mind. But he didn't know why he hadn't asked this before. Life in the Court of Miracles really was manic, so manic that even a simple conversation between a mother and son was scarce. During these five (just turned six) months, Quasimodo had not properly been able to talk with Jocelyna as just the two of them. When they talked to each other, they were talking to everyone else in the camp as well. You couldn't have personal conversations when living in such a crowded setting.

"Whereabouts was your last camp?" the bell ringer asked, curiously, looking up at her.

"Boulogne. Not too far from here actually. I'd lived there ever since I can remember." Jocelyna smiled at her son again, thrilled that he was interested in her own life and background.

Quasimodo returned the smile before another question suddenly rose in his mind once again. But this time he hesitated, wondering if he should ask it or not.

He simply stared at his feet as they took turns swinging backwards and forwards in midair before meeting the gravel once again, leaving only half a second in preparation to complete the swift motion all over again. The young man thought about it a second more before Jocelyna's voice sounded from beside him, interrupting his thoughts.

"There's something else on your mind," she announced, so confidently, as though she were just copying someone else saying it.

Quasimodo looked at her, astonished that she had somehow known.

"H-how...h-," began Quasimodo.

"Oh, I could just tell from your expression; your curled lips and slightly furrowed eyebrows," she declared simply, still not losing her smile. "You used to do that when you were a baby when you'd spotted something particularly interesting. You were only a few weeks old but it seemed as though you recognised and understood the things around you really well."

Quasimodo now noticed that his eyebrows were subconsciously furrowed and his lips curled. He also began to notice his stomach tightening slightly.

Hearing from his mother about the moments from his days when he was loved and wanted saddened him just that little bit. A mother who absolutely adored her son and noticed things as little as that did not deserve those twenty years of torment. He was guilty that Jocelyna had endured such pain for all those long years and he didn't even know it. Though he knew deep down that it was ridiculous, he felt guilty for not knowing about her, as though her years of torment from being separated from him was wasted because he wasn't able to recognise it. He couldn't help but feel that it was somehow his fault, that he had caused it all in the first place. That was what made his stomach tighten even more. He remembered Jocelyna telling him about why she moved to Paris when on the Cathedral balcony. It was because of him that led Jocelyna to go on that long trip to Paris in the first place.

Quasimodo suddenly came out of thought when he abruptly realised the question that Jocelyna knew he wanted to ask. He caught Jocelyna looking at him, inquisitively- she clearly wanted to answer his question. That assured him.

"Who...I mean...did you live with...family?" he began before hastily adding, "It's just I-I noticed there's no one...no one else with you... I mean... no one else in the camp...family-wise, so I didn't know if..."

But Jocelyna just smiled at him. Twenty years had given her time to accept that her brother was no longer with her.

"I lived with my brother," she said, in a tone that sounded like she was reading the opening line of a fairytale book. "Lucentio, his name was. Oh, we had so much fun together in that camp. We were both so young. He was seven years older than me, quite a big age difference but that didn't matter in the slightest to us. All we had was each other, really. We never knew our father and our mother died when I was...well, I can't even remember...but I remember I was young, but not too young to notice just how quiet Lucentio was for a few months afterwards. I never knew how she died; I'm grateful that Lucentio never told me."

The gypsy woman was so deep in thought that she had only just realised they had stopped walking from the fact that the trees and bushes had stopped moving around them as they walked.

Jocelyna had not thought of her younger years for a very long time. It was from becoming a mother at a young age that made her lose connection with her childhood- she had to be in the in the mindset of an adult in order to cope with being responsible for a little one.

She looked down at her son who gave her a look of compassion. She saw this and decided to lighten the mood. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her, especially when she knew this talk may be the only one they'll be able to have for a while. She wanted it to be special.

"She would have loved you, Rhayeder," she cheerfully said as she lovingly patted her son's misshapen back.

Quasimodo just smiled meekly at his shoes. Jocelyna forgot just how unbelievably modest he was.

"Oh! I've been meaning to ask...how...how have you been sleeping these past few months? I wanted to ask you when you first arrived but...well... you know what it's like and there's just not been the chance," the gypsy woman said after a short few minutes of a comfortable silence, looking softly at Quasimodo. "You remember I told you I wanted to go to Paris to get medical help for your poor back which appeared to cause you pain during the night, well, I just wondered if that was still a bother to you?" She looked down at the floor, earnestly and added slowly, "I-I know I wasn't able to help you like I'd very much wanted to on that night. I'm...I'm so sorry."

The young man looked at her slightly bowed head, his eyes soft and gentle, like always, with compassion as well as sadness from seeing her so upset. He absolutely hated seeing her like this.

He then stopped to think about his answer.

Quasimodo's back had in fact caused him a great amount of pain right up until he was around the age of 16 when it didn't hurt nearly as much.

But he could still remember the many sleepless nights he'd had as a child as a result of his back. He would have been no older than 5 when most nights he'd desperately tried rearranging his old, tattered tunic that posed as his pillow so that his back rested on its fabric rather than the rough floor. But the tunic was too thin for the pain to cease when he'd try lying down on it and the coldness of the floor was too much to relax the boy when he had to use the bare floor as his pillow while he used the tunic to nest his back.

But all that was different now. His back didn't hurt at all now from the softness of his blankets. Quasimodo had never slept better since moving to the Court of Miracles.

After much thought, he finally answered.

"Oh, I-I've been sleeping really well actually, thank you. It's those wonderful blankets... I-I cannot thank you enough for them."

"I'm really glad to hear it."

They began walking again. They were not far from the Cathedral now. Both could spot the Cathedral's splendorous towers as the trees gradually parted with every step they took.

It didn't take long before they were able to smell the fresh bread and pâtisseries that issued from the Boulanger near the Cathedral.

Once the two had crossed a long, narrow bridge, they then turned a corner to find they were standing directly in front of Notre Dame herself. It was magnificent as always.

The stalls on the square in front of the Cathedral were in full bloom with crowds of people gathered around them, observing their products. The atmosphere was incredible. It seemed nearly all of Paris was gathered on that square. The spring market was definitely a strong contender with the Festival of Fools in terms of popularity.

Once Jocelyna and Quasimodo had reached the busy square, many had already noticed him and had turned around from the stalls to greet the bell ringer.

Quasimodo saw many bright, happy faces smiling at him. He thought they really didn't need to be that enthusiastic in greeting him. He preferred it at the festival when no one recognised him or knew who he was so he could just dart around unnoticed. Back then, he didn't feel constantly on display which was very much the case now. Being not at all secure with his appearance, being the centre of attention was very uncomfortable for the young man but, being his very polite self, he returned the many smiles and greeted everyone back.

"For you, Rhayeder!" said one stall merchant, raising a plump, blood-red apple proudly once Quasimodo had reached his fruit stall.

The gentle bell ringer smiled at the merchant, put up his hand to decline the juicy-looking apple and said in his forever kind tone, "oh, no but thank you, Monsieur."

This happened quite a few times for the young man as he weaved in and out through the stalls with Jocelyna by his side. There was definitely such a thing as _too_ kind, particularly as Quasimodo was still not used to this treatment having spent twenty years being treated like garbage.

Quasimodo didn't buy, nor accept a free gift, from the stalls that afternoon. Jocelyna, on the other hand, after admiring a stall that sold mystical and spiritual things, bought a simple, mahogany dream- catcher. She was entranced by the pattern that weaved itself in a star shape in the middle of the ring. Its delicate multicoloured thread had been interlaced so articulately that she couldn't resist.

Just as Quasimodo and Jocelyna were leaving the square after spending a few hours admiring the market, they walked by a fortune- telling stall which was positioned a few yards away from all the other stalls.

The woman that sat at the stall had long, dark brown curly hair that had been tied back in a low, messy bun. She looked a fairly plump woman but that could have been from the many layers of clothing she was wearing. She looked much older than Jocelyna, perhaps early fifties. This woman wasn't a gypsy but her clothing was very similar to one.

"_Bon l'après-midi, Madame_," she called to Jocelyna as she reached the stall with Quasimodo on their way back to the camp. Jocelyna thought it strange that she didn't address Quasimodo. Perhaps she didn't notice him. She was definitely the first person today not to notice Quasimodo. The woman continued, "would you like me to see what the stars have in line for you, _mon chèrie_?"

"No thank you, Madame," she replied cheerfully. Jocelyna had been trained by other gypsies to read palms ever since her mother died, leaving just her and Lucentio by themselves, so she had learnt to make a living out of it. She knew how expensive palm reading and telling the future was- raising the price was the oldest trick in the book for a palm-reader or fortune-teller.

The woman nodded once before darting her eyes to the young man standing awkwardly before her. "And how about you, young one... oh _mon Dieu!_" she exclaimed, making Quasimodo jump with the unexpected outbreak. But the woman appeared to compose herself quickly. "Well, I might have a remedy for the curse that has obviously been bestowed upon you if you'd like that instead. How did they curse you, boy? It would help in finding the right cure."

Jocelyna stared, wide-eyed, at the woman, absolutely appalled. _How dare she say that! The insensitive little... _but Jocelyna's thoughts were interrupted when her eyes drifted over at her son.

She could tell Quasimodo felt uncomfortable, as she noticed he was wringing his hands several times, clearly not knowing what to say or do. For that moment, he looked just like the painfully shy, timid bell ringer she met up in the bell tower a few months ago. This woman _clearly_ didn't live around here since she wouldn't have been so insensitive and rude to the new hero of Paris if she had known who he was.

Despite the cold look Jocelyna was now giving her, the woman remained impassive.

"That looks like a no then _but_ how would you like me to tell you your future? It's all there, in your palm. I can see your past..." the woman raised her left hand to the left side of her head and turned it so that the palm was facing right. "...your present..." she then moved her raised hand slowly to the right so that it was directly in front of her haggard face. "And your future," she said as she moved the same hand one last time to the right side of her face. "I can predict everything that's in line for you, my child."

Quasimodo, admittedly, was intrigued by the woman. She was very mystical and mysterious- very interesting to look at. Her voice was just as mystical as her appearance- with a slight roll of her _r_'s and a vague hoarseness in her voice.

"Come, my child, come, come. Let me see your palm," said the woman to Quasimodo. Jocelyna just stared at her, eyebrows furrowed, just like her son's. Though he was practically an adult, she still couldn't help feeling very protective of him.

Quasimodo, all the while, did as she said, still entranced, and stretched out his palm towards her. The woman brought his palm closer to her and peered at it.

"Hmm...let's see...you have a long lifeline, boy," observed the strange woman with her piercing grey eyes as they darted about the young man's palm. "And...ah, yes, you're a shy one by the looks of that line there," she announced as she pointed to a single line that was away from the others, unconnected.

She continued. "Hmm...what else...you're...creative, very creative, yes, I can see that...and...intelligent..." The woman then looked up from Quasimodo's large hand and stated, "Well, you're quite an interesting one, aren't you?"

The bell ringer smiled, taking that as a compliment- whether she meant it as one or not.

"And..." the woman continued, bowing her head to get a closer look at a particular line on Quasimodo's palm, "It looks like your life is going to get interesting too..."

Quasimodo immediately looked up from his palm and straight at the woman, intrigued and wanting desperately to know more.

Jocelyna, however, knew this woman would demand payment if she continued so she gently but firmly took Quasimodo's large hand and began pulling him away from the stall, just like a mother pulling away her child from a sweet shop window.

The fortune teller didn't utter a word as she sombrely followed Jocelyna and Quasimodo with her sharp eyes as they hastily left the square.

Once out of square, the two decided to head back to the camp once again having had a good look at the market.

The afternoon remained warm and sunny; the sky was a brilliant turquoise colour, being on full display due to the lack of clouds.

The two continued to chat cheerfully to one another. Jocelyna had decided to forget about the strange woman so she was making general conversation with Quasimodo as though they had never met her.

Quasimodo, on the other hand, was replaying the last five minutes in his head. _Interesting? My life is going to get interesting? In what sort of way?_ he thought to himself. He didn't know if the woman's predictions were correct. He concluded that he'd just have to wait and see.

He just hoped it was the _good_ kind of interesting.


	6. Chapter 6- The hunt

**Chapter 6- The Hunt**

"My lord..." came the quivering voice of one of Marcuse's broad-shouldered, heavily- built guards as the three came to a small clearing in the woods they had spent four days trekking through. "I think we've reached this clearin' before; I recognise that hill o'er there. We must 'ave gone round in circles... look the map-"

But Marcuse had already stridden over to the guard on his great stallion and had ripped the map clean out of his hands.

"How _dare_ you attempt to take control," he hissed. "You have _absolutely_ no authority! _I_ will be in charge and only _I_ will lead this hunt. Is that understood, lieutenant?"

"Y-yes, sir, very sorry, sir," replied the guard hastily.

Marcuse fiercely stared at the guard for a few seconds before composing himself and pulling firmly on the reins so that his horse faced the other guard who tensed when Marcuse caught his eye.

"I am aware that this trip has been long but according to the map we will reach the Paris walls in no more than a week," he announced to both guards, his chin held high.

Both guards earnestly nodded in agreement.

"Be a long trip as it may...but, remember..." he sneered, leaning forward as though telling a secret, "...good things to those who wait."

And with one last quick glance at the map, Marcuse folded it in the satchel on his horse and galloped on, eager to waste no more time in receiving his reward.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

He's on the move!

I had the scene from _Tangled_ in my head while I was writing this. The one where those two red-haired, bulky brothers are with Mother Gothel, being her usual sinister self, who says to them, "good things to those who wait." I was kind of basing the guards off those two brothers as well.


	7. Chapter 7- Morning routine

**Chapter 7- Morning Routine**

The early morning made the sky something truly magical. With an array of colours from orange to purple spread over the canvas, the very few clouds made the beautiful colours soften so that they became pastel and restrained yet with the ember of the sun soaking through to create a palette of colours of both placidity and vibrancy.

Quasimodo had been awake for a while.

Even after moving out of the bell tower, the bell ringer continued to stay in his usual sleeping pattern of waking up very early. It was understandable, seeing as he needed to get up so early every morning in order to carry out his duty of waking up the city through the song of the bells. And moving to the camp made no exception of this.

He didn't need to be at Notre Dame yet so he had plenty of time to just lie where he was in his small yet cosy wagon, nestled in the unbelievably soft blankets Jocelyna had lovingly made for him.

The air around him was warm and comforting; blanketing and rocking him like that of a mother to her slumbering child.

The young man thought he could hear the faint sounds of his own mother beginning to stir from her wagon which was positioned right beside his. This made him smile. In fact, it had become a routine to smile upon hearing the sound. Every morning, Quasimodo would awaken the earliest and upon hearing Jocelyna beginning to awake a little while after, the familiar sense of warmth and security would fill his entire body, making it almost impossible to hold back a smile that would creep upon his lips every time.

He couldn't explain what it felt like, knowing someone who loved and cared for him so much was so near. The someone who had cared for him his entire life. The same person who had loved him all his lonely life and had yearned to see him again even when she knew her life would be compromised in the process. But Quasimodo knew his mother would have been willing to let her life leave her to make his own miserable life just that tiny bit better. It was overwhelming, even to this day, to know and see just how much she loves him.

A gentle, content sigh unexpectedly escaped his lips.

He continued to lie on the wooden floor of the wagon, arms behind, supporting his head as he stared dreamily at the dimmed ceiling.

Quasimodo had used the wagon for six months now and it remained as clean as ever. He noticed there was not a single cobweb or a spider happily feasting on its breakfast in a corner. This was a big change from the bell tower. The wooden beams in the tower were always decorated with the flotsam of a long ago spider's web while the walls were constantly occupied by spiders, flies and many other residents that enjoyed to nest in the bell tower's coldness. This was definitely a change, and a nice change at that.

A few more minutes had passed and the young man gradually began to lift his body and support himself on his colossal arms. He reeled his head up slightly in an attempt to spot any kind of movement from outside his wagon. Upon hearing the faint murmurs that his ears could just about reach, he decided to get up and greet the day.

The bell ringer picked up the warm blankets from his lap, folded them neatly and placed them in a pile in the far corner. He then used his left arm to haul his whole body up into a kneeling position. Since the wagon was only tall enough for the occupant to kneel in, Quasimodo had to shuffle on his knees to the entrance. Having climbed the few steps down to the pebbled ground, Quasimodo stood up straight (well, as straight as a hunchback can go), slowly breathing in the camp's familiar scent. Quasimodo loved that smell. It was the smell of home.

He noticed there were a few other people awake from the faint sounds from their own wagons but no one else was up and walking around. Apart from himself, the place was deserted. He liked this time of morning. It was so peaceful, so relaxing. The contrast of now and a few hours later when the breakfast is served is incredible.

Quasimodo, still standing in front of the small entrance to his wagon, swivelled his head to the right of him to be met with the sight of Jocelyna's own dark purple wagon. His was a deep green colour- the exact colour of his tunic. The mixture of dark purple on Jocelyna's wagon and the deep green on his own went very well together as they stood side by side.

His eyes remained fixed on the dark opening of the purple wagon. All that could be heard from within was the sound of the ruffle of blankets followed by what sounded like the tailings of a quiet yawn. Quasimodo smiled at this before deciding to head to the washing area.

There wasn't much one could do to wash themselves since the tools used were scarce and sometimes nonexistent in a camp that held so many. But, being so early with no apparent use of them yet, Quasimodo spotted just what he needed lying on a long, uneven oak table to his right beside the washing bowls once he'd ducked underneath a thick hanging rug that separated the washing area from the rest of the camp.

Besides from his sleeping pattern of getting up early to ring the bells, the other reason Quasimodo got up so early was to miss the morning rush. Here is when the washing area becomes so crowded that even moving is a luxury and the washing tools are always snatched.

There were quite a few rugs and blankets hung on a single thick line of rope spread above the area that sufficed as a kind of wall. The lack of light from the thick rugs and blankets being hung so close together caused the large 'room' to be a little dimmed, even with two candles placed in two corners. But having spent twenty years in a very dark bell tower with nothing but the faint glow of a candle as a source of light during the night, Quasimodo's eyes were more than trained to see in this fairly muted setting. Many could say the washing area was even cosy.

At the opposite side of the rug that acted as the entrance, stood numerous small compartments positioned adjacent to each other which were made up of four tall, thin wooden walls that were glued together to form the shape of a box.

When Jocelyna had shown Quasimodo round the camp when he'd first arrived, she explained that these compartments were for washing yourself.

Thankfully, Quasimodo always awoke this early so he had never experienced a busy washing area. It hurt to imagine what it would be like with those twenty or so cubicles being shared around hundreds of people wanting to use them.

He made his way over to the oak table.

On its uneven surface lay several balls of soap - some used and some which looked untouched- in a wooden bowl that was curved just as unevenly as the table, a small pile of cloths, a wooden plank of scissors and a tin basin which held several straight razors.

The young man eyed all of the items slowly, taking advantage of the fact that he could take his time with the whole arrangement.

He eventually chose himself a worn out bar of soap, a cloth and a razor.

The objects looked miniscule as he held them in his palm.

He looked up from studying the items in his large hand to be met with a rather ghastly sight. He let out a loud gasp and drew back in shock.

He had temporarily forgotten the position of the mirrors behind the table, hanging by thin ropes attached to the thick one that did a fine job holding the many heavy rugs and blankets.

After instantly looking away, he exhaled, closing his eyes slowly in both frustration at having forgotten and misery at the fact that he had to look away in the first place.

Quasimodo had vowed long ago to never put himself in danger of seeing his reflection again. Ever again. Whether it be a reflective surface, a puddle or even his shadow that appeared every night when he lit his one candle back in the bell tower.

_Why would someone want to look at something utterly grotesque, anyway?_ he had mused to himself a few years ago.

In his whole life, he'd only seen his reflection once. It was the first time he'd ever laid eyes upon himself. He could remember it well. After all, it was impossible to forget such a sight.

He was 5 years old. He was well aware that he was hideous at that age having been old enough to understand what Frollo meant when he constantly reminded him of his appearance.

He was just a naive, innocent child who was already showing his sweet, kind-hearted nature by his big, round, beautiful clear blue-green, crystal eyes and his undeniable respect and kindness to Frollo- despite his contrasting treatment. He was also a curious one; forever climbing through little eaves in the walls of the bell tower or scaling the Cathedral itself to explore more.

And that sweet curiosity led him to wonder what Frollo actually meant when he told him all those horrible things on a day to day basis. So, he decided he'd finally look at himself for the first time.

He had never had the courage to do so before, as, from what his master told him of what he looked like, he really didn't want to. But his strong interest finally got the better of him and before even he knew it, he'd found on the floor, by his sleeping area, a reflective piece of glass that had broken long ago from a stained glass window. It was big enough for Quasimodo to have to hold it in two of his already large hands.

Without letting himself talk himself out of it, he sat crossed-legged on the cold floor, closed his eyes tight in preparation, heaved in a big breath, brought the piece of glass in front of him to the level of his face and, very slowly and carefully, opened his eyes.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared him for what he saw that day.

Yes, Frollo's very vivid descriptions did prepare the boy to an extent but Frollo could have described every bit of his face millimetre by millimetre and still not have prepared the young bell ringer for the sight in front of him.

He remained staring at his reflection, seemingly paralysed from the many emotions that overwhelmed his young body.

And then, all of sudden, using all his strength and both of his hands, he threw the glass onto the hard floor a few yards in front of him, making it violently smash into many pieces which then soared around the entire tower, brutally bouncing off things just from the sheer power of the impact. Even then, his strength was immense.

He just sat there, not taking his eyes off the floor in front of him. It seemed he didn't even notice the shards of glass scattered about the tower, some even firmly stuck in beams and walls. Tears very soon began stinging his beautiful eyes. He hadn't even blinked once and they were already hastily falling.

He remembered he didn't eat for a whole week after that day nor did he sleep. He even remembered _why_ he stopped eating and his eager intentions...

The bell ringer was abruptly jumped back to the present when he dropped his bar of soap onto his foot. He shook his head and decided he'd not waste anymore time- he had to get to the Cathedral soon.

So, the young man put the razor on the table and, having just gone out to fill it up at the nearby fountain, gathered the bowl along with the blanket and soap and headed to the furthest cubicle at the back. He then flung the blanket over the side of one wall and stepped in with his bowl of water and soap.

And so, like every morning, after closing the door tightly, the bell ringer vigilantly removed his tunic, hose and navy shoes. He then scooped a handful of water and dabbed it on his arms, legs, neck, stomach and back before reaching for the soap on the floor and brushing its smooth edge onto his wet skin. Having covered his entire body with the soap residue, he scooped up more water and washed the soap from his body again.

It was always a nice feeling being clean. Even in the bell tower, Quasimodo would carry out these washing duties every morning.

With all traces of soap washed away, he took the cloth and dabbed the moisture from his smooth skin.

Once completely dry, he placed the cloth back over the wall and pulled his tunic, hose and shoes on once again.

There was still no sign of life when Quasimodo left the compartment and was back in the main washing area. It didn't matter a bit to him; it was such a lovely change from the busy environment he so well knew by now.

There was only one more task needing to be done.

Quasimodo picked up the bar of soap, bowl and razor and set them down on another table; much like the oak one except it was square-shaped and a lot shorter. He then dunked the soap in the remaining water in the bowl until its clear visage was completely painted over, rubbed the soap between his large hands and dabbed at his jaw line and chin until it looked like he had a soap beard. Picking the razor up from its place beside the bowl, he dabbed it once in the misty pool and gently and slowly glided it across his jaw and chin.

To Quasimodo's great relief, having completed this task every morning for the past few years, he didn't need to use a mirror since he'd become very familiar with the shape of his jaw line and the movements needing to be done.

Finally, once he'd glided his one hand over the bottom part of his face to feel the smoothness once again, he placed the razor on the side of the bowl and washed the remaining soap from his face. He picked up the razor once more and dabbed it in the water. Little red hairs broke away from the blade and drifted flaccidly on the surface of the water.

After tipping the rest of the water in a nearby drain, Quasimodo put the razor back in the tin basin, the empty bowl on the large pile, the soap back on the table and folded the blanket over a cubicle wall to dry.

At last, his morning routine for today was complete.

Quasimodo guessed it was now time to head to the Cathedral to ring the bells to signal the dawn of day.

The bell ringer was just hastily passing his wagon towards the camp entrance when he heard shuffling coming from the dark purple wagon that belonged to his mother.

He stopped and waited for Jocelyna to emerge, as he wanted to wish her a good morning before walking to Notre Dame.

He beamed when he saw her unmistakable, thick black hair emerge from the small opening followed by her tanned face with her piercing blue-grey eyes. She, too, beamed when she saw who was standing politely in front of her.

"Good morning, Rhayeder!" whispered Jocelyna cheerfully as she instantly took off from the bottom step to hug Quasimodo. She always felt cheerful around him. Even on her darkest days, one look at him can make the darkness instantly evaporate.

He was positively beaming as he joyfully hugged her back. He never lost his smile as he quietly replied with the same cheerful tone, "good morning! I hope you slept well."

"Yeah, very well, thanks," she softly said once they'd broken apart. "I hope you did too although I want to apologise on behalf of Ayo's _thunderous_ snoring," she gently added, pointing at the wagon opposite Quasimodo's own.

The bell ringer chuckled meekly. He had vaguely heard the old man during the night but that hadn't bothered him at all. He turned his head towards the darkened entrance of the orange wagon opposite his own. Ayo was a fairly old gypsy with a talent in sculpting. Quasimodo had become good friends with the elderly man a few weeks after his arrival at the camp. Ayo soon learned of Quasimodo's talent for wood carving so he loved talking to the bell ringer about his passion, knowing the young man would listen. The elderly gypsy was the only one left in his family so meeting someone who shared a similar passion to him was delightful. He wasn't alone anymore.

Quasimodo smiled warmly at the dim entrance before remembering his initial plans.

"I-I'm sorry, please excuse me, I'm just on my way to Notre Dame and I think I'm a bit late..."

"Oh, of course, my love, go on, I'll see you at breakfast," Jocelyna replied in her motherly tone, stroking Quasimodo's cheek with the back of her hand.

And with one last wave once he'd reached the camp entrance, he made his way up the slope leading to the exit before allowing himself to be drunk by the luminous rays of the awakening sun.


	8. Chapter 8- Together we stand

**Chapter 8- Together we stand**

The early morning air was bitter; trapped by the fog that continuously circled its way around the three trekkers, dancing under their feet and snaking through their hair.

It had been 17 days since they'd begun the hunt.

Marcuse Frollo showed no sign of uncertainty about the journey of any kind. There was no hint that he wanted to go back. The frozen air turned no switch in his iron body; no crevice was made in his eagerness to get what he wanted.

His reward was palpable now. Just a few miles and he'd have vengeance.

Marcuse led the pack, his acid eyes never removing their fix from the long trail ahead. It was as though he could already see his reward with every step his beast made. The hunger in his pebble-like eyes was more than perceptible now.

The three halted their horses when they'd reached an enormous marsh that spread the entire width of the forest clearing. It seemed to extend forever.

Aside from the silhouette of what looked like a small, shabby-looking hut through the clouded gaps between the surrounding trees, the area was empty.

Marcuse Frollo paced his Stallion lengthways along the marsh, making the horse quicken his steps when the thought that they were lost involuntarily entered his mind. He whipped out the map from the saddle bag and concentrated his caustic eyes on the lines depicted on the parchment. But there was no sign of a marsh on the map. He narrowed his eyes as though the action could make the sign instantly materialise.

With no success and after sourly admitting to himself that they were lost, Marcuse turned around to face his men. He then raised a single eyebrow at them. From experience, the guards knew exactly what that meant.

"My lord, I pray, we must not rush to conclusions," one guard hastily spoke.

Marcuse Frollo just looked at him, his sharp eyes piercing the guard's own dull eyes.

" .so," he slowly spoke, finally retracting his stare on the guard. "Gentleman, what we have here is simple. It is clear the marsh appears out of bounds for our use yet we need to cross it in order to continue the quest which is why I have decided to send one of my...most _faithful_, _loyal_ men into its adhesive core in order to assess its safety and ignite a passage through."

Both guards simultaneously held their breath. They both knew the outcome of those who dare cross marshes. Its cement texture immediately engulfs you after your first step and it is only the strongest who can escape to tell the tale.

There was silence.

"I'm waiting, men," he simply uttered.

He was just on the brink of throwing one of the soldiers in the marsh himself when the sound of a single twig snapping nearby interrupted his plan.

All three men turned their heads to the direction of this peculiar sound.

Marcuse narrowed his eyes at a small, thin tree to his right- its leaves had already weltered away.

A twig snapping sounded again which, this time, made Marcuse ride his horse slowly over to its root by the tree. He then sinisterly reared his head round the tree to find a young boy clinging to its trunk in fear and cowering after seeing the cold eyes of Marcuse.

The child looked no older than 8 years old. A plain, dirty maroon shirt loosely clothed his thin frame while a pair of brown-orange callouts dressed his frail legs. His shoes were merely the collection of mud that clung to his small, bony feet. His hair and skin had also done its fair share of mud and dirt collecting. The dirt grabbed at each tuft of his charcoal black hair, each cheek on his slender face and on each palm of his petite, brittle hands. His eyes were as dark as his untidy hair but, unlike his hair, were clean and pure and free from contamination.

"AHA!" Marcuse yelled as he immediately lent towards the frightened boy, grabbed him by his collar and yanked him off the ground so that he was hanging in midair. The boy gave a loud squeal as he was suddenly yanked off his feet.

"Well, well, well," spat Marcuse as the boy began pulling on Marcuse's arm in his attempt to get free. "What have here, hmm? State your business, boy!"

"Please, s-sir, I-I-I was...I-I was just-"

"State your business! NOW!" yelled Marcuse in the boy's face.

"I-I was just out here gathering wood for a fire! I-I live in the hut over there!" he said, pointing as best as he could to the little shed that was just about visible through the fog and trees.

"Is that so?" replied Marcuse. Just then, a thought suddenly entered his head. "Well, then you would know this area quite well."

The boy hastily nodded, praying that this would satisfy the frightening man.

"I see..." Marcuse finally uttered. He was silent as he suddenly released his grip on the boy's collar so that the boy soared towards the ground, landing on his arm which caused him agonising pain from the steep drop and impact of the hard surface.

The boy was too weak and in too much pain to get up from the ground and run to safety so all he could do was anxiously watch as Marcuse Frollo dismounted his great beast and glide elegantly in his minister robes towards the cowering child.

"Get up, boy!" he sneered as he resumed his hold on the child's collar and pulled firmly at it, forcing him to stand up. "Right, you are going to tell me a direct route from here to Paris. And you are going to tell me now," he spoke, in the same spine-chilling voice as his brother.

"B-but, I-I-I..." the boy squealed.

"We'll have none of that again. Now, tell me... Now!" Marcuse shouted as he grabbed the boy's shirt collar once again so that the child was forced to look up into the man's hollow eyes.

"I...I don't know," the child whispered, dropping his head in shame.

"You are going to tell me now! You pathetic little street rat!" sneered Marcuse at the scared, innocent child in his grasp.

"P-please, sir! I don't know the way; I've never been outside the area before!"

Marcuse grew very angry at this point. Something inside his empty shell told him this boy was lying. He had heard of children like him; forever playing tricks on the innocent to get what they wanted- food, money, etc. _He's a street rat and that's what street rats do._

"You're lying! Very well, what's your price for this information? Spit it out, come now, name it," he said, as calmly as he was able.

"But I'm telling the truth!" shrieked the child, close to tears.

Marcuse remained unconvinced.

_Who does he think he is? How dare he attempt to trick someone like me!_

He leaned towards the boy so that his frozen breath chilled the child's face before tightening his grip and using his collar to hurl him to the ground once more.

"I am going to teach you a lesson about lying," said Marcuse very calmly as though he were merely informing the boy of his plans for the next day. The guards sniggered in amusement as they looked on from their positions behind the minister.

The child was too stunned to move from the ground as he saw the minister lunge at him in preparation to beat him. But before Marcuse was able to lay another finger on the boy, something from the distance snatched his attention.

"NO! STOP! Let him go!" came a cry from within the trees in the distance. The voice that interrupted the minister's intentions was strong and youthful. It was the voice of a young woman.

What followed the voice was, indeed, a young woman who'd sprung from a cluster of trees that were situated behind the thin, narrow tree that the child was cowering on the floor next to. She quickened her pace into a sprint when she spotted the petrified boy pinned to the ground.

"What the-" began Marcuse as he straightened up from his panther-like crouch to get a look at this maddening interruption.

The young woman was now clearly visible to the minister. She appeared to be in her late teens- 18 years old to be exact. Her frame was thin like the boy's but with elegant curves that trickled down her silhouette and landed wonderfully in all the right places. The thin, long light blue skirt and grey chemise complimented her delicate curves perfectly. Her hair was the darkest shade of brown, almost as dark as the boy's but, unlike his own messy cluster, it possessed an array of graceful waves that rippled down its fairly long length. Those lovely ripples of fine deep mahogany curtained a pale, slim, lightly freckled face which possessed eyes of deep hazel. She was beautiful. But her beauty was shamed by the same coating of dirt and mud that was so evident on the boy. She, too, was living in poverty.

"Please, sir!" cried the young woman, breathlessly, as she reached Marcuse and the boy. "I beg you, please let him go!"

"What is the meaning of this?!" hissed Marcuse. "I am merely punishing this hateful street rat for lying to his superiors!"

"Please, just stop! He hasn't done anything wrong!" pleaded the young woman, hurrying to the child and standing in front of him, protecting him from the cruel minister.

"Stand aside, girl!"

"I will _never_!" she retorted, her voice strong and confident, as she maintained her protective stance.

"How _dare_ you defy me!"Marcuse shouted as he lunged towards the girl and grabbed her thin wrist, yanking her towards him. "You will regret this," he sneered before breaking his hold on her wrist and kicking her in the head, causing her to instantly plunge backwards onto the ground right beside the absolutely terrified boy. She did not move.

"I've had enough of this," explained the minister so relaxed as though the unconscious girl before him did not exist. He then crouched down in front of the child in a condescending manner and said in his infamous sinister tone, "I am going to give you one last chance, boy, tell me the way to Paris."

The child's eyes narrowed in what could only be described as a devious look before giving the minister a look of pure innocence. He had a brilliant idea.

"Ok, I'll tell you," he spoke, looking up at the man with his eyes as beady as possible. "Go back where you came from until you come out of the woods. Turn right at a sign that says 'Boulders View'...then...keep going down the long path right to the end, go across the big, big field that grows corn, turn left at a sign called...um... 'Parsley Green'. Then, when you get onto path again, go down the steep hill, through another forest until you get to a wall- that's the Paris wall. All you need to do is circle it to find the entrance." The boy concluded his speech with a simple smile which he hoped was innocuous enough to trick the devilish minister.

To the child's relief, Marcuse bought every single word.

"Come men, five days until this will all be worth it," he sneered to the soldiers as he mounted his Stallion, turned away from the marsh and headed the way they'd come. Completely unaware that the boy had tricked them into getting lost.

Once all trace of the foul man and soldiers was swallowed by the fog, the boy frantically shot up from the ground and knelt beside the still unconscious girl, a look of utter terror on his young face.

"Elise? Elise!" he cried as he placed his minute hands on her thin shoulders and shook her as much as his strength would allow. "Elise, please, say something!" he cried again, tearing up.

He let out a shriek as he spotted droplets of light maroon begin to form on the crests of the leaves that matted their way around her soft hair. The child gingerly took one hand from the girl's shoulder and gently brushed it over the side of her head. He gasped when he drew his hand back to see stains of blood drying on his pale skin. He looked up with a tormented look from his tarnished hand to the girl's face.

He needed help.

The young boy stood up and anxiously swept his eyes in all directions around him in his attempt to spot someone- _any_one. To his absolute dismay, the place was deserted.

Thinking quickly, he resumed his previous position beside the young woman and whispered slowly in her ear as though any loud noise could harm her, "I'll be right back for you, I promise."

After giving the young woman one last defeated look and glimpsing at the thin tree behind him so he'd remember the girl's whereabouts when he got back, the child dashed as fast as his brittle legs could manage through the dark woods, weaving in and out of trees which, the boy couldn't help noticing, appeared to have eyes that glowed maliciously when they'd spotted him, waiting for him...

Thankfully, the early morning sun was almost completely in the sky so the forest was beginning to brighten with each splash of its brilliant rays.

The boy didn't stop to look back once as he continued his race through the woods, jumping over logs and dodging vines as they dangled their long arms, ready to strike him The child fought with all his might to get the feeling of absolute fright and terror out of his body as the image of his sister lying unconscious on the forest bed never stopped creeping into his mind.

_Please don't let her be dead! Please don't let her be dead!_

What seemed like a century, the child had finally reached the opening of the woods that allowed the view of the tiny hut to come into his sight.

_Almost there._

When he'd completed the short trek across the field, he could barely stand up when he lunged at the hut door and swung it open with its rusty latch. He had collapsed on the floor when his father dropped a small, cracked cup from his grasp and shot up from a wooden, very uncomfortable-looking chair upon seeing the distressed boy.

"Souver!" he exclaimed as he dashed across the small room, knelt down and cradled the exhausted child in his tender arms. "My boy, what on earth's happened?!"

The child grabbed and clung tightly onto his father's protective arms for comfort as he lay on the floor, breathing fast whilst trying to fight the tears in his eyes which threatened to fall any moment. Crying would only slow down the process of helping Elise.

"Tell me what's happened," nervously enquired the man as he gently placed both hands on each side of his son's frail head and slowly tilted it upwards so that he was able to look at his face- as pale and drained as ever.

It took a while for Souver to find his voice but the thought of his sister still lying unconscious in the woods quickened his search considerably.

"She's...she's...i-it's E-El...El...ise!" cried the boy in his father's concerned face.

Not another word escaped Daryn's lips as, upon hearing his beloved daughter's name in the context of danger, he dashed from the floor, nodded at Souver to lead the way and sprinted as fast as he could out the hut, across the field and into the woods.

Once they'd passed the forest clearing, Souver quickly turned his head in all directions of the forest in his desperate hope to find that thin tree he'd kept in his head. He'd hurriedly described the tree to his father so the man was also eagerly looking for it too. The young boy was getting more and more anxious as each minute passed during their search.

_Please, please, please, please, please!_

At long, long last, the two finally spotted the marsh that occupied the forest clearing. Next to it was, indeed, the small, thin tree that Souver instantly recognised upon seeing. What made his young heart leap in great relief was upon seeing his sister still lying beside it. This was, of course, both good news and bad news for the child but the situation was dreadful enough as it was so Souver decided that seeing her still lying beside the small tree was a good thing.

"Oh God!" yelled Souver's father, close to tears, as he also spotted the young woman lying motionless next to the thin tree. He dashed like a bullet towards her; Souver tailing close behind.

"Oh God, Oh God!" he cried again as he knelt down, exactly like Souver did, beside the girl and caressed her beautiful thick locks. "Oh no, no, no," he began repeating as he discovered the blood that had dried itself to the various leaves scattered around the girl's slender head.

Souver stood still as he looked on, apprehensively biting what was left of his blackened nails as he saw his father lean over the girl and place two fingers on one of her wrists, checking for her pulse.

The wait for the result was absolute torture.

The boy stiffened and held his breath as he waited for some sign from his father that would determine whether his life was over or not. He tensed even more when he noticed his father press his two fingers more into her wrist, clear that her pulse, if it even existed, was weak.

It was the longest wait Souver had ever had to endure in all his short life.

The child narrowed one eye fearfully when Daryn eventually straightened up. Upon seeing the man give one simple nod with a weak smile to accompany it made the excruciating breath in the boy finally release. He closed his eyes in sheer relief. His sister was alive.

"Right, we need to get her help," explained the man, slapping his knees with the palms of his hands.

Souver had joined him beside the girl. "But...from where?"

The man sighed and subconsciously drifted his eyes over the stained leaves.

"I don't know," was all he managed to utter. Then, all of a sudden, he stood up and put his hands on his hips, as an idea had suddenly occurred to him. "We'll have to take her into the city. There's no chance we'll be able to find her help here in the countryside."

Souver gave his father a concerned look.

"Don't worry, it's not far and I know how to get there," the man explained, reading his son's expression. "Come, we have to hurry! We don't know how bad the damage is. You can tell me what happened along the way but right now we just really need to hurry!"

Souver was beginning to feel so glad that he'd sent that cruel minister in the opposite direction of Paris. If they had encountered him along the way, goodness knows what he would have done to them all.

"Give me a hand, son," pleaded his father as he knelt down again and scooped the sleeping girl in his arms.

They both carried the young woman- Souver taking her feet as his father carried the rest- carefully through the heart of the woods, across the field that nested their hut and up to the small stables that housed their one and only horse, Shep. They set the girl down on the soft grass as Daryn hastily hitched a small, tattered cart onto frayed ropes that attached themselves on to Shep's elderly back.

Shep was a rather old horse. He had been a part of the small family for a very long time. Daryn's own father had passed him down when he himself was a teenager. The faithful horse didn't do much now except lay around the small barn, chewing on straws of hay and wheat and being walked twice a week around the field by another member of the family. He was just too late in his days to do anything else.

The indolent horse gave an irritable grunt as the weight of the young woman met with the attached cart, adding to the strain the already aching horse was feeling in his poor back.

Once both had made sure the girl was firmly in the cart, Daryn gently climbed Shep's back while Souver joined his sister in the cart, forever anxiously leaning over her, checking for any sign of movement.

_Please let her be alright, please let her be alright_, he constantly prayed as they hurriedly set off for sanctuary.


	9. Chapter 9- Seeking help

**Chapter 9- Seeking help**

The sun was properly in the pallid sky as Daryn hastily led his family out of the countryside and on the narrow path that led directly to the city of Paris.

Souver tried desperately to remain awake for the entire journey, as he wanted to always be aware if his sister showed any sign of life.

Thankfully, the trip was short, lasting only a day and one night.

Being near the end of April, the weather was humid so the night proved no distress for Daryn, Souver or even Shep as they trekked with nothing but the frayed material of their clothes on their backs. Souver nervously watched Elise for any sign that she was cold since she, too, wore nothing but her own thin clothing as her only source of warmth. Both Daryn and Souver had done the best they could to aid the uninvited wound that rested on her head. The boy had ripped a piece of his sleeve and gently tied it under her lovely hair, around her head, so that it stopped any more blood from seeping out. He was too scared to check just how bad the injury on her head actually was but he could feel the size and depth of it when he'd placed the piece of his sleeve on it. Whatever the damage, it wouldn't be an easy recovery.

It was reaching morning again when Daryn saw, through the fog, the outline of Notre Dame's historic towers creeping high over the many other buildings that lined the city.

They'd made it.

"We're here, son," he spoke quietly, turning his head towards Souver and giving him what he hoped would be an encouraging smile. A quiver was evident in his voice but he tried to hide it when around Souver as to not make him more nervous than he was sure to already be. He couldn't have been more proud of him. What he did for Elise was nothing short of brave. He would never be able to explain just how much it pained him to find his only daughter lying unconscious on the forest bed. Just the image brought tears to his eyes. His eyebrows had remained creased in fury when Souver had explained everything that had happened to them both as they made their daily venture into the forest for firewood. He was absolutely furious. But what made him even angrier was the infuriating fact that the devilish culprit was nowhere to be found...

"Papa...?" came the echo of Souver's quiet voice from behind. "What could happen to Elise? When will she wake up?"

Daryn couldn't bear turning around to see his son's saddened face so he kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead of him.

After much thought, he sighed and slowly replied, "I'm...I'm not quite sure, my son. But what we have to understand is that head wounds are one of the most difficult to treat. We'll get as much help as we can but...just understand that it won't be easy... and your sister may not fully recover. Just...prepare yourself for that, my son, if that is the case."

"Yes, Papa," came Souver's voice eventually, even more quiet than before. The tremble that was evident in his young voice made Daryn tighten his hold on the harness to stop from crying. He really hoped they'd find help from someone or somewhere in this city. His children have been through more than enough.

Once they'd entered the city, the man dismounted Shep and began walking quickly alongside him, holding onto his reins to steer him through the pebbled streets of Paris. It was late enough in the morning for most of the Paris citizens to be outside, attending to their daily duties and chores. He spotted a fisherman sitting glumly on the side of a bridge, making no effort to hide the miserable expression on his face from the lack of fish caught, and the baker who came into view from his bakery to stack the outside display carts with fresh bread and baguettes. It smelt delicious as they hastily passed those bread carts. They hadn't eaten for a few days but Daryn ignored the ache in his stomach since his daughter's health was far more important.

He took a quick peep into the cart attached to the horse to find Souver snuggled up close next to Elise, fast asleep. The sight was heart wrenching.

He swivelled his head in front of him again in order to focus on his task of finding help. He subtly eyed each citizen as they passed him. Anyone would do but goodness knows who you could trust nowadays; he didn't want any more danger to come to his children.

He eventually spotted a young woman walking casually in their direction. She looked pretty decent; her plain, dark green and grey dress suited her mahogany hair and tanned skin. She didn't appear frightening or dangerous at all. This was his best-and perhaps only-hope of finding help. Daryn wasted no more time as he pulled harder on Shep's reins to quicken his pace as he dashed towards the woman.

She looked taken back when he stopped abruptly right in front of her but no sign of anger or disgust accompanied her look of surprise. The man smiled politely at her. The girl furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"Please, Mademoiselle, please, can you help me?" he desperately pleaded, breathing quickly.

"Um...yes?" she replied awkwardly after a few seconds of mere staring, clearly uncomfortable from being so abruptly addressed by a complete stranger.

"Sorry to bother you but my daughter's very sick and needs help. Please, do you know where I can find it? Her head is hurt pretty bad and it needs to be looked at fast." He felt foolish saying this. It sounded so childish. He knew he should have rehearsed what he was going to say but, with all the emotion of the previous events, it had slipped his mind.

The woman looked at him for a moment, clearly sceptical of him but, to Daryn's surprise, her features softened when she craned her neck to behind Shep where she saw strands of Elise's thick, long hair dribbling through the holes of the cart. Seeing the girl lying flaccidly in the cart made her drop her uncertainty.

"Oh...um...yeah," she tersely said as she narrowed her eyes in thought, "I do know somewhere you can go. It's a place known as the Court of Miracles. It's a kind of refuge for gypsies who have nowhere else to go. They have everything there; food, water, shelter and things that could help your daughter. I used to live there until I moved out of the city. Not many people know about it so it's your best bet for shelter and safety if you ask me. You and your family will be safe, I promise." She ended with a kind smile that brought out the green tints in her eyes.

"Oh! Thank you so much, mademoiselle!" Daryn cried, suddenly reaching for the girl's thin hand and shaking it several times with both of his hands.

"Don't mention it," the girl nervously replied, a little uncomfortable with this abrupt gesture. She turned and looked behind her. "Alright, what you gotta do is...walk down this street until you reach the end where that dress shop sign is," she began, using her thin arm as navigation. "Then turn right down an alleyway just beside that dress shop, get to the end, turn right and walk down the street. You'll reach an opening that leads you onto the town square. You'll then see Notre Dame Cathedral- it's massive so you can't miss it. Go straight across the square and you'll get to a clearing where you'll see a long, narrow bridge. Go over it and walk down the path that follows- It's pretty long. Ok, then...um...then...then you'll get to a grassy bit with bushes, go straight through those bushes. Now, this bit is important, you have to look for a bush that has no flowers growing out of it. It's the only bush, as all the other ones have flowers growing. It's difficult but you should soon find it. Once you've found it, there should be a thin bit of rope under the bush, grab it and pull it up. It's hidden pretty well so it could take some time finding it. You've just opened a trap door. You should then see a slope- it's dark but you should be ok. That slope will lead you straight to the entrance."

"I cannot thank you enough, mademoiselle."

"It's not a problem; you need sanctuary," she kindly replied, giving him a warm smile.

The girl politely waved at the family as they continued down the pebbled street and onto the small trek for sanctuary.

Daryn smiled to himself as he led Shep and his children round the corner and onto the alleyway; he had prayed for an angel to guide them.

Souver was just beginning to wake up when the four reached the opening that revealed the spacious town square. His eyes

Daryn gasped when he'd shifted his head to the direction of the great Notre Dame Cathedral.

_Oh...my...goodness!_

The sight was unlike the man had ever seen in all his years. It's splendour, its magnificence, its sheer _radiance_. His mouth hung open slightly as he continued to just stare at the incredible sight before him. He had never visited the city before. He had missed so much. Shep grunted from beside him which brought him out of his dreamful daze.

"Come on," he whispered gently to the horse, stroking its smoky-grey skin, "we're almost there."


	10. Chapter 10- New arrivals

**Chapter 10- New arrivals**

The sweet, ghostly smell of plums and oranges engulfed the camp as all the gypsies either conversed happily with one another, played sports activities in the large spaces in the camp or attended to their duties of cleaning and making the clothes, cleaning the plates and cups from breakfast, caring for the children and gathering food for lunch.

Jocelyna was sat on the floor on a large, orange cushion with her back resting against the hard wood of one of the many coloured wagons. A few young women, old women and mothers of the young children gathered around her, also sprawled on cushions. The gypsy had known these women for a while. Every now and again they would just sit and chat to one another as though it were a house group. These chats were becoming less frequent since life was always so hectic in the Court of Miracles with tons of chores and duties needing to be done. But today was an exception. In fact, the entire camp seemed more relaxed today. The mood that surrounded the gypsies was mellow and smooth; very unlike its usual tone. Jocelyna decided she'd take advantage of this rare atmosphere in the camp by catching up with a few of her dear friends.

"You know, I'm thinking of travelling," announced a woman to Jocelyna's left, nodding at various dimensions of the circle of women to confirm her statement. She was a rather large woman with shoulder-length, black hair and she wore a wonderfully bright orange dress. Its vibrant colour clashed perfectly with the cushion Jocelyna was relaxing on. "Once my youngest is old enough to look after himself, I might travel to the other side of France. I'd love to go. Just to escape; disappear for a few years."

Several murmurs of _I know the feeling_ issued amongst the gypsies.

"I was thinking of doing that a few years back," announced an older woman who sat on a rather small, light blue cushion opposite Jocelyna. "But then I realised how much of a stranger I'd feel in this camp when I got back."

More murmurs of agreement followed.

"Say, speaking of strangers," began a younger woman, adjusting her position to a side-kneel on her cushion as she tilted her head, looking at Jocelyna. Jocelyna knew her and her three young children well since she helped look after them every now and again. "How's your boy? I haven't heard how he's doing for a while."

"Oh," Jocelyna perked, leaning forward from the side of the wagon her back had been resting on. "Yeah, he's...well, he's doing really, really well. Everyone absolutely adores him!" She beamed at the ground in front of her, remembering how warmly everyone had welcomed Quasimodo six, nearly seven, months ago.

"Too right," announced another older woman simply to Jocelyna. "He's the politest young man _I've_ ever met. Quite a few times I've had the pleasure of coming across Rhayeder through the days. He'd always be offering to fill my wash basin from the fountain before filling his own, patiently holding up that stupidly heavy rug of the wash area, giving me one of his blankets when he- goodness knows _how_- found out that one of mine had been ripped to smithereens by a child _and_ he cheerfully wishes me a good morning every day as he passes me on his way to the Cathedral! I mean... where and _how_ do you learn such _discipline_?!"

All women smiled at each other and nodded in agreement. Jocelyna, however, knew exactly how he got it. _Frollo_.

"Not to mention the _strongest_!" spoke up another woman who appeared to be around the age of Jocelyna. "I think it was last week sometime when I was helping a few people lift up a wagon that had been accidently tipped over by the children during one of their games. I'd say there were about six of us but it wouldn't heave and then _he_ spots us having trouble, grabs the bottom and just heaves it up by himself quick as a flash straight firmly onto its legs as though it didn't weigh goodness knows how much. I mean...just incredible."

"It's true! My friend was telling me about it; he was trying to help push it up too. Oh, and have you seen him with the children?!" proclaimed a much younger, perky-looking gypsy with long, dark brown hair and soft, gentle features. "The _sweetest_ thing I've ever seen! You just...wouldn't expect someone as...what's the word..._bulky_ as him to be so gentle and caring to them."

Again, all women nodded in agreement. Jocelyna continued beaming; her smile widening with every wonderful thing said about her son.

"Actually," spoke the larger woman, swivelling round so that her back faced the middle of the gathering. "I think I saw him with the children just now when I was making my way over here..."

All women copied the woman by swivelling round too.

And just as the woman said, there sat Quasimodo on a small boulder in the far left corner at the other end of the spacious area, just visible between the silhouettes of the other residents in the camp. He was surrounded by a fruitful number of children who were sitting cross-legged on the ground, facing him as though he were the teacher and they were his students. From what the women could make out from their distance from him, the children appeared very intrigued with what they were witnessing in front of them. Some had their mouths open in interest and excitement. It appeared every single child was totally silent; their ability to talk seemed to be engulfed by the wonder of what they could see. Jocelyna, like the other women, craned her neck so she could see the outline of Quasimodo better through the thin layer of gypsies who partially barricaded her view. She gasped in delight when she could finally see the reason for the eager expressions on those young faces. Her own expression could be likened strongly to the few children who had their mouths open.

She had known he could do this but she had never actually witnessed the process before. She looked on as Quasimodo held the chunk of wood so delicately in his large hand as though it were a butterfly. The carving knife ran gracefully over its hard surface, taking off bit by bit as the blade and the wood met. The movements themselves were graceful, deliberate and well-practiced. It only took less than half a minute until the final shape was revealed to the eager audience.

Jocelyna beamed when she, too, saw what the plain chunk of wood had been turned into.

The bell ringer stretched out his broad arm and held his hand out in front of him, the carving standing proudly in his palm. The children gasped in excitement. The carving of a baby Jay stood in his palm, smiling to its audience. Its resemblance to a real Jay was spot on. Everything from its beak to the tiny feathers on its small wings were made with such love and care. The intricate detail was absolutely extraordinary. It was one of those things that, no matter how many times or how long you've looked at something, every view feels entirely new.

The bell ringer leaned forward slightly to a little girl at the front nearest to him. She was a beautiful young girl with bushy brown hair tied up in two low pigtails with lilac ribbon, light pink, full lips and soft round hazel eyes that sparkled with every smile. She laughed with pure glee when she felt the beautiful bird being placed ever so gently into her tiny hands.

"My _goodness_," the gypsy woman heard from the left of her.

"Is there anything your son _isn't_ good at!" joked the older woman sitting opposite her as all women gradually turned back into the circle.

It was nearing lunchtime when Jocelyna had finished making a few socks for the ever-growing populace. She had been strolling leisurely through the large camp, making the odd small talk with her fellow gypsy friends when something she spotted made her stop in her tracks and laugh warmly. Right in front of her in the empty space that usually held the parties were about four or five young children playing happily together, waving above their heads what looked like toys. _That's funny_, she thought; the camp had never had toys for the children- it was usually making up games that entertained them. But when the gypsy woman walked closer she made out what appeared to be a horse, a boat, a sheep, a dog and a tambourine. And they were all made of _wood_! Quasimodo had made these beautiful toys as well as the wonderful bird he'd created earlier! These children looked so happy with their new toys, waving them above their heads proudly as they made them fight for their lives in battle against each other; the children making pretty accurate sound effects to intensify this terrifying war.

Her eyes drifted over these fantastic carvings to a figure in the near distance that was perched on the stone walls of the large fountain that provided the camp with water. It was hunched over with a large hump supported by thick arms that bent at the elbow and rested on the thighs of its stocky legs which supported its powerful torso. She smiled even wider.

"Hey," she breathed when she'd reached him, pure joy and delight filling her up as it always did when she was with him.

Quasimodo looked up instantly from his fix on the ground and smiled just as quickly when he discovered who had greeted him.

"Oh! Hi!" he cheerfully replied.

"Do you mind if I..."

"Oh, yes, of course," he spoke, scooching up so she could sit down.

"You know, I couldn't help but notice those absolutely wonderful carvings you'd made for the children. I thought that bird was incredible!"

"Oh..." he meekly said, looking down at the ground again. "Thanks very much, it's just something to do, I guess. They've proven to be excellent distractions in the past but now it's a sort of hobby. I've still tons to learn about wood carving though."

Oh, the modesty.

"Well, the children adore them anyway." She placed her hand in the other as she looked across at him. "That was the first time I'd actually seen the process of wood carving...it looks pretty difficult!"

"Well...it's...it's not too difficult, I guess. You just need to paint the picture of what you want to create in your mind and the knife will do the rest. Practice is also key...I had quite a bit of time to do that!" he added, half amusingly but half downright genuine.

Jocelyna nodded solemnly and lovingly touched Quasimodo's thick arm. She wasn't going to argue with him on that. Her stomach lurched again. The way it always did when she remembered how completely miserable, long and lonely her son's life was in that wretched bell tower. She tried to shake that one off.

"I noticed you haven't wood carved before since you arrived here," she curiously spoke, taking her hand away and putting it back on her lap.

"Yeah...I...I don't know...I guess I just...didn't really feel the need to." Jocelyna beamed at him, beyond thrilled that he still felt so at home at the camp. "It was only when I noticed how bored a group of children looked as they played so I got a few pieces of wood from the bell tower when I went there to ring for morning mass and just sat down and carved whatever I thought the children would like as toys. Then a few children asked what I was doing and soon they all came gathering round so I decided to show them all how to do it."

The beautiful image of Quasimodo lovingly carving the baby bird and giving it to that little girl made her smile at him once again. She was always the happiest when around him. The number of times he'd made her smile was countless.

But something suddenly made her smile immediately disappear into her soft features.

The sound of someone crying for help met both their ears. It sounded like it was coming from the camp entrance. They both shot round towards the entrance to be met with a sight that brought back the sickening lurch in Jocelyna's stomach. They both hastily shot up from their perch on the fountain wall and ran as quickly as they could to the camp entry, joining the huddle of many anxious gypsies forming around the root of that heart wrenching plea. Jocelyna craned her neck to see over the particularly tall gypsies in front to get a better look. She gasped and stared wide-eyed when she'd caught a brief glimpse of an elderly-looking horse with a callous, grey mane and a smoky-grey coat to match. But it wasn't the sight of the elderly, exhausted-looking horse that made her gasp but the sight of a girl unconscious and sprawled helplessly on a cart. Her tattered clothes and muddy skin brought tears to the gypsy's blue-grey eyes. _What on earth could have happened to her?!_ she eagerly thought.

It was then that she realised the poor girl wasn't alone in the cart. Her eyes slowly drifted over to a boy who looked no older than 8, wearing clothes that were just as frayed and soiled, sitting behind the girl who had her head carefully propped onto his frail knees as he gently stroked her long, black locks.

The tears now began to fall. What _horrible_ thing could have happened to these poor souls?!

"Please, help! I was told to come here to seek refuge for my family and care for my injured daughter...her head is badly wounded... _please_, can someone help me?!" sounded the voice that she'd heard earlier by the fountain.

Jocelyna tilted her head to her left to where that wounded voice came from. Her eyes landed on a man. His hair was dark brown like the injured girl's but was considerably lighter than her own dark mahogany locks. He looked still young. Jocelyna guessed he was only a couple of years younger than herself. From her distance, his eyes appeared to be just as dark as his hair. Even from where she was standing, she could clearly make out a soft tint to his eyes but a glint of pain and loss appeared to consume parts of this softness. Though he was thin and brittle-looking, his build, nonetheless, had a ghostly hint of power and strength that showed the most in his broad, tough shoulders. And, to Jocelyna's utter sadness, the man was clothed in the same dishevelled rags as the poor children in the cart and dressed in the same filth of the earth.

The gypsy could hear Quasimodo breathing heavily from beside her. Pure grief and sorrow lit up his kind and gentle face as he, too, looked on with devastation.

"Please..." the man pleaded again, his voice strained.

Jocelyna looked around at the bundle of people forming around the man and children. They looked nervous at what to do. She tried to spot Clopin and Esmeralda amongst the crowd but they didn't appear. She knew for sure they would have helped. She waited for someone to walk forward from the crowd and help...but no one did. They just stood there shuffling their feet and leaning side to side in edginess.

_Why isn't anyone helping?!_

The man continued to stand where he was, eyeing the crowd desperately.

She couldn't just stand there.

"Wait...sir..." she proclaimed as she drew apart from the crowd, causing many to leap aside. The man met her gaze instantly and gave her a weak smile of utter relief. She looked back towards the crowd, in the gaps, to where Quasimodo stood awkwardly. She gave him a simple yet eager nod. She understood all too well why he didn't want to come out from his safe spot in the bundle.

"Sir...I...I think I could help you," she announced, continuing to walk forward confidently towards the man.

"Oh, thank you, Madame, thank you!" he breathed, rushing over to her and courteously kissing the back of her hand.

He quickly led her to where Shep stood, on the verge of collapsing from the looks of that poor horse, and brought her around the cart so she could see the injured girl.

"It's alright," she gently assured the boy who looked startled when she'd leaned over the girl a little to get a better look at what this injury could be. After a few seconds of simply looking at the horrifying state of the unconscious young woman, the man standing anxiously by her side, the gypsy tersely declared, "we need to get her comfortable."

The crowd immediately stepped aside for Jocelyna, the man and the horse to walk on through.

They carefully lowered the girl down from the cart and onto several layers of blankets which Jocelyna had lay on the floor in a fairly spacious corner in the camp. They then carefully rested her precious head on two thin pillows. Though they were thin, they were the thickest ones Jocelyna could find.

The young boy jumped down from the cart and, after giving his sister one more look of sorrow, went to release the elderly horse from the cart ropes and walk him over to the fountain nearby. The man and the gypsy woman were left alone, looking nervously down at the sleeping girl resting on the blankets.

Without uttering a word, Jocelyna knelt down beside her slim frame and carefully tilted her head sideways to examine the damage.

She tried to hide her horrified face from the already terrified man as she took off what looked like a stained bit of sleeve to reveal the wound. It was nasty, definitely, but the gypsy knew this man had been through hell so hearing the worst was not what the man would have wanted.

She carefully put the sleeve on its place covering the injury and stood up next to him again, still not taking her sorrowful eyes off the poor girl.

"It's difficult to tell how bad the damage is until she wakes up. I checked for a pulse and it's fairly strong so it shouldn't be too long."

The man grimaced, fearing if she would ever wake up. "I really appreciate your help, Madame."

"Please, call me Jocelyna."

"Jocelyna," the man quietly pronounced, "I'm Daryn, her father."

"Well, regardless of the circumstances, it's lovely to meet you."

"...likewise," he quietly said again, almost to the point of a whisper.

Daryn knelt down like Jocelyna had done and began gently stroking her beautiful, deep mahogany hair, whispering something to her that was too quiet for the gypsy to make out. The look of pure love and devotion that was depicted on his face brought back the tears in the gypsy woman's eyes. From what she could hear of muffled sounds coming from behind her, the crowd by the entrance had broken apart and everyone had resumed their usual activities. It was still beyond a mystery why none of them seemed to care enough to help. Though this corner was partially hidden from parts of the camp, the girl was still clearly visible to the other parts of the camp where many gypsies continued their duties as though it were just another uneventful day.

"Please, let me take a look," came a soft and gentle voice suddenly from behind them.

Jocelyna smiled, before even turning round, knowing, from his recognisable voice, exactly who it was. She was beyond proud of him that he'd found the courage.

She turned round to be met with a concerned expression that spread itself over the deformed visage. He stood unevenly behind the two adults, wringing his hands apprehensively as though he were standing outside the headmaster's office, awaiting some form of punishment.

The gypsy smiled warmly at him and, without saying a word, beckoned him to the young woman lying beside the fretful man who continued stroking her hair and whispering to her, clearly unaware of the new arrival.

Quasimodo limped towards the blankets, stood for a second before gingerly kneeling down beside Daryn. The man heard the movements and looked up.

"_What in God's name_?!" he shrieked as his gaze landed on the deformed young man kneeling next to him. Quasimodo wasn't exactly surprised by his reaction but he did flinch from how loud he'd shouted.

Daryn shot up and quickly backed away from Quasimodo, covering his open mouth with his hand in utter terror. The bell ringer stood up too. What was he thinking?! _Of course_ this man would be terrified of him! Sometimes he could be so stupid.

Jocelyna rushed to her son's side and placed her hands on the sides of his uneven shoulders. Quasimodo stared at the ground, wanting to save the man from anymore fright.

"N-no, no, no, no, Daryn, listen," the gypsy hastily spoke to the man who now stood at a safe distance from the two. "This is my son...Rhayeder." She patted her son's shoulders when she announced his name. She stared at Daryn, wishing he would say something. But he didn't.

A long and painful minute of nothing but silence followed. Daryn was now darting his eyes to all parts of the young man- his hump and face caught his eyes the most. Quasimodo maintained his gaze on the ground and Jocelyna maintained her own gaze on Daryn. Seeing how disturbed he looked, Jocelyna sighed, took her hands off Quasimodo's shoulders and walked slowly over to the shaking man.

"I think it's best we get you warm, cleaned up and something to eat," she told Daryn as though she was his mother. "Don't worry; you're daughter's in the safest of hands now."

The man didn't respond but he did allow Jocelyna to take his shoulders and lead him over to the washing area. She gave Quasimodo an apologetic smile as they left.

The bell ringer was left alone with the young woman. He hadn't properly examined her head yet so he, again, walked gingerly towards her and resumed his kneeling position beside her.

He could properly see her now...

His intentions were, of course, to check her injury but he couldn't help but first being utterly captivated by her sheer _beauty_. She truly was gorgeous. He noticed the soft quality of her closed eyelids, her full lips that lay motionless on the fair skin of her flawless, lightly freckled face, the waves of brilliant deep mahogany that danced around her head and fell way past her shoulders so they blanketed her upper arms, and the mud smudges that trickled down the sides of her beautiful face, parts of her arms, her neck, her clothes and her feet. She found himself gazing dumbly at her. He wondered what colour her eyes might be...

He shook his head once to snap himself out of this childish state, remembering his initial purpose.

Very gently he cupped his large hands behind her small, delicate head and tilted it towards him so he could examine the wound that nested on the right side of her head. He then carefully took off the stained piece of sleeve, still holding his head with his one hand, and peered at it. He furrowed his eyebrows in misery upon seeing strands of her perfect hair dampened by the blood surrounding the wound. His eyebrows creased even more when he saw the injury. It was pretty sizable; around the size of a shoe's heel.

He thought quickly about what needed to be done. First things first, the side of her head needed a good clean.

He gently set her head down on the pillow again and carefully shifted his hand away from under her head.

"I'll be right back," he kindly whispered to her before getting up, taking one last sorrowful look at her and getting lost in the thick layers of busy gypsies, vowing to himself that he'd do absolutely anything he could to help this angel to fly again.


	11. Chapter 11- Comfort

**Chapter 11- Comfort **

"Here, this will help you get warm," Jocelyna told the man softly, wrapping a rather small, lilac, blanket around his thin yet near to broad shoulders.

Without waiting for a response, she took up the space on the step of her deep purple wagon next to him. She smiled warmly at him as he tucked into the slices of orange and grapefruit and plateful of pine nuts that she'd prepared for him. All traces of mud had vanished now that Daryn had washed himself and put on a navy blue and brown gypsy outfit Jocelyna had fetched from the spare clothes pile near the washing area. Though this was a little hard to pinpoint what with the grief of the unconscious young woman, she, nonetheless, could tell he was much more content now that he was clean of the mud and filth that, for goodness knows how long, had clung to his fair skin. While Daryn was in the washing area, Jocelyna had caught up with the young boy and had sent him off to get cleaned up too. She'd laid an outfit for him too on the sides of the washing cubicle he was using and a plate full of what she'd given Daryn on the uneven table beside it. She'd also led the elderly horse to the camp's 'barn' where the various goats and horses were sheltered. There was food and water there so she knew he'd be happy. And, indeed, she'd caught his tired yet appreciative expression when she began walking him in.

The two just sat on the wagon steps in silence aside from the rather loud chewing noises Daryn was making as he enthusiastically ate the slices and pine nuts. Jocelyna couldn't hold back a small chuckle at this. He clearly hadn't eaten for a while.

When he'd eventually finished munching his food, the man set the wooden plate down on the ground and stared ahead of him, almost unaware of the gypsy woman's presence. Jocelyna could tell he wanted to say something from the small intakes of breath she could just about hear.

"Um...thank you for the food, Jocelyna," he eventually spoke, his voice hoarse from not having spoken for a while.

"It's the least I can do."

He half-smiled at her.

"Daryn...may I ask...what...what happened to her?"

He scratched his forehead as he looked down at the bottom step, clearly more interested in staring at it than telling her. But he already owed so much to her that he knew he had to.

"She...she was hurt in the woods whilst her and her brother, Souver, were out collecting firewood."

_The young, scared boy in the cart_, she told herself.

He continued. "I wasn't there; I only heard it from Souver but when he told me what had actually happened I had to fight with every bit of strength in me to stop myself from crying. He's just a kid; I'd hate it if I saw my own father cry...but, anyway...he told me that she was..." he stopped for a second and creased his eyebrows as though in pain. "She w-was kicked to the ground."

Jocelyna closed her eyes in desolation. Why did these innocent souls have to go through something as _horrific_ as this?!

"A-and then she just...lay there...not waking up...I'd never seen my boy as pale and drained like that before. One of the worst moments of my life was seeing my own little girl sprawled on the forest floor, utterly lifeless." Jocelyna saw tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

She looked him right in his eyes, held his hand and gently told him, "We'll save her. I promise."

In appreciation, Daryn placed his free hand over her hand that tenderly held his other one, not needing to use words to tell her just how glad he was that they'd met someone like her.

The tender moment ended when they both spotted Souver coming towards them, completely clean of mud, carrying a plate of the same orange and grapefruit slices and pine nuts Jocelyna had given Daryn. He was already tucking into them as he walked.

"You found the food I'd left you, then," she said to Souver as cheerily as she could manage. She noticed the new outfit she'd given him- turquoise top and milk-coloured callouts. They didn't fit him nearly as well as Daryn's new clothes did on him. This time, she managed to hold back a snigger at how disproportionate the clothes looked on his slim build.

"Hi, son," Daryn said, quickly wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his new outfit. "I don't think I've properly introduced you; Jocelyna, this is my son, Souver, Souver, this is my good friend, Jocelyna."

"It's lovely to meet you, Souver."

_Good friend_, she gleefully thought.

"You too," he quietly replied, rather shy of the woman. "Um...Papa...who's that with Elise? I walked past her and was about to check on her when I saw...him..." he said, taking a seat on the edge of the wagon steps next to Jocelyna's. "He's...scary..."

Daryn still appeared unfit to address the subject to answer him.

"That's my son, Rhayeder; he wanted to see if he could do anything to help...Elise," Jocelyna explained, picking up the young woman's name.

"But... why? I don't want him near her-"

"Souver, that's enough," Daryn said but there was no firm tone in his voice; he clearly still felt uncomfortable talking about who he, too, had encountered by Elise.

"Is that...what he really looks like?"

"Souver," Daryn said again, a little firmer this time but he still kept his gaze on the ground.

"It's ok, you're free to ask. And, yes...yes it is. He was just born like that."

"But..." Souver began again, eager to know more but the impatient exhale of breath from his father made him drop the subject and go back to stuffing more grapefruit into his mouth.

"You're quite a curious one," Jocelyna fondly commented. "Rhayeder rings the bells at the Cathedral, you know. Do you know Notre Dame Cathedral?" she lightly asked Souver.

"I...I think I've heard of it..."

"Well, he's been doing that his whole life! Ringing those heavy bells every day for twenty whole years, can you imagine!" she said as though she were speaking to a 3 year old.

"Is that how old he is?" he asked through a mouthful of grapefruit, making juice dribble down his chin as he talked.

The gypsy nodded, smiling, glad that he seemed to be warming to her.

"Is that why his back is so weird?" Souver questioned to which another impatient exhale from Daryn followed.

"No, that's just another birth trait," she explained again. "Souver, did you happen to see what Rhayeder was doing to help Elise?"

"Not much but I saw he had a wet cloth in his hand but I dunno what he was doing with it."

"Probably cleaning the wound I suspect," Jocelyna slowly said.

"Have you checked on Shep, Souver," announced Daryn suddenly. Jocelyna was surprised by the abrupt change in subject. She wondered if he'd changed it deliberately due to his more than obvious awkwardness talking about the subject. He was so abrupt in questioning, after all.

"Nope, I'll do it now," the boy replied.

Jocelyna and Daryn were left alone again as Souver dashed off to the shelter for the animals. The man eventually looked up from the ground and into Jocelyna's eyes. He looked remorseful.

"Listen, I'm sorry for what happened earlier with your son. My reaction...it...wasn't called for. I just...well I just didn't...expect such a...anyway, I could see it hurt you so I apologise. I should have been more sensitive, I mean, it isn't his fault he's...you know..."

The gypsy woman swept a few strands of her thick, black hair away from her face. It was clear to her now that he was only changing the subject to get rid of Souver so he could apologise properly rather than as a result of his uneasiness of the topic which she'd initially suspected.

"It's ok, you're not the first one but I appreciate your apology all the same."

"So, he's your son?" spoke Daryn, letting go of the solemn tone in his voice and returning to his usual kind one.

"Yep, he sure is," she replied proudly with a smile.

"I couldn't help noticing the striking difference in hair colour between you both."

"Oh, yeah, weird isn't it? Not to mention difference in skin colour. He's always had red hair and pale skin."

"I hope I'm not grilling you," he said, returning to the sombre tone.

"Don't be silly, course not, I'm naturally curious myself." She noticed his worried face again. "She will be ok, Daryn, I promise. Now, will you be alright staying here for a few days while Elise recovers? There's plenty of room for all of you here."

He looked up at her. The relief and gratitude on his face was so genuine that it was painful for Jocelyna to look at him.

"We'd really like that," he whispered, looking as though he might burst into tears.

"I'm glad," she plainly answered, merely smiling.

She was secretly thrilled.


	12. Chapter 12- True Colours?

**Chapter 12- True Colours?**

The day had just sunk into the night when the announcement for dinner filled the camp as did the delicious smell of the food itself.

Jocelyna had spent the entire afternoon sitting on those steps, talking with Daryn. He had told her all about their venture to the Court of Miracles, his children... and his wife, Almeria. Talking about his wife made Daryn feel very sick; all the memories came running back to him like a wildlife stampede. He'd told her about how she'd died giving birth to Souver, the emptiness in the house that followed and the excruciating hurt and pain he'd felt ever since.

"Elise looks a lot like her, you know," he'd told Jocelyna whilst sitting on those wagon steps with her. "Her expressions...her mannerisms...and her eyes especially; deep hazel."

Jocelyna gave him a sad smile and went to put her hand on his like she'd done earlier. He tightly held onto her's as if he never wanted to let go...

The two trotted down to the camp where the long, wooden tables stood. The area was packed as it usually was around meal times- particularly dinner. Daryn seemed a little in shock when he, too, laid eyes on just how many people there were. He stopped abruptly. The gypsy noticed this, as well as his shocked expression, and merely laughed.

"You'll get used to this, don't worry!" she assured him, taking his stiff hand and leading him towards the long que to the food. This action reminded her briefly of doing the exact same thing to Quasimodo when she had led him out into the open and towards the citizens of Paris as their hero.

After receiving their portions, the two sat down at what seemed to be one of the, if not only, spaces left. Jocelyna immediately spotted Esmeralda sitting diagonally from her, seemingly uninterested in engaging conversation with a rather drunk middle-aged man who was slumped in the chair opposite, mumbling things to her through large mouthfuls of food.

"Esmeralda," announced Jocelyna cheerily, waving to get her attention. The gypsy girl swivelled her head instantly to the sound, thrilled that she didn't have to listen to this drunken man any longer.

"Hey!" she replied, genuinely happy to see Jocelyna. "I haven't seen you for a while!"

"I could say the exact same thing!" Jocelyna happily replied as Esmeralda shuffled along her bench to sit opposite them. There were a few narked gypsies but with one dazzling smile from the young woman, no one could keep hold of their grudge.

Once the gypsy girl settled into her new seat, she cast a look at the man sitting awkwardly beside Jocelyna.

"Oh, sorry," spoke Jocelyna, darting her head between the two, "this is Daryn, our newest member at the camp, Daryn this is Esmeralda, one of my closest friends." She patted the man on his bony back fondly.

"Nice to meet you, Daryn," Esmeralda said as she extended one slender hand in greeting. Daryn took it shyly.

"So, when did you get here?"

"...A few weeks ago...I think," the man replied simply, clearly lost for words by the gypsy girl's exotic beauty.

Jocelyna looked at him, baffled.

"I think it may have been today you arrived," Jocelyna quietly corrected, using her infamous motherly tone.

"Really?! You must be starving what with all the travelling! Where was it you travelled from?" Esmeralda asked the shy man through her piercing green eyes. Once again, Daryn found himself too lost in those emerald beauties to give her a straight answer.

"France somewhere...I think," he absently replied again, subconsciously jabbing at his food with his fork.

Jocelyna and Esmeralda chuckled at the man.

"It's ok, you must be exhausted," the gypsy girl kindly spoke as she went back to her own food.

"Where's Clopin?" asked Jocelyna, skimming the dinner area briefly for any sign of the eccentric, colourful gypsy. One quick skim was really all it took to confirm whether or not the colourful gypsy was nearby.

"Out and about' is all he said to me yesterday so I guess he's just...out and about!" laughed the gypsy girl.

"Is that where you've been as well? I just haven't seen you around at the camp for a while."

"Yeah, well, sort of. I've been living out for a few days. Exploring and visiting places, that sort of thing. Now we're free to do that, I just want to get the best out of it."

"Well, I'm really pleased you can do that now. Heck, I'm pleased we can _all_ do that now!" Jocelyna announced.

They both laughed before settling into a comfortable silence.

"You haven't seen Rhayeder near here have you?" Jocelyna asked Esmeralda after a few minutes of noticing Daryn sneaking shy glances towards the beautiful gypsy opposite.

"No, I haven't actually, I'm sure-"

Daryn suddenly cleared his throat loudly. Loud enough to seem rude.

Both gypsies stopped and turned to look at him with creased eyebrows.

"Is everything ok, Daryn?" Jocelyna asked in as kind a voice as she could manage.

"Uhuh." He tersely replied as he bowed his head towards his food as a guilty child would do when they didn't want to be told off. This short answer did nothing to convince both women.

Jocelyna exhaled and bit the inside of her lip when she remembered the last time Daryn had behaved like this and the reason for it.

"I thought you were ok with this now," she quietly spoke. There was a touch of hurt in her voice which Esmeralda instantly picked up on.

Daryn abruptly dropped his fork onto his plate and turned on the bench to face the hurt gypsy woman directly.

"No, in all honest opinion, I am not ok with this," he firmly announced, banging his fist once on the wooden table for emphasis.

Esmeralda looked on, confused.

"Yes, I accept the fact that that _fiend_ exists and lives in this camp with the normal people but do not expect me to be ok with him constantly being near my _one_ and _only_ daughter! Just imagine what he could do to her! I am sorry Jocelyna but I cannot have him near her one more second; she's too ill to fight off whatever curses he's putting on her. You heard Souver earlier, he doesn't want him near her...and neither do I." He breathed in impatiently. "You're going to have to find someone else to help my daughter recover because I am not allowing _him_ near her, or my son for that matter, ever again!"

Jocelyna just stared, incredulous, at the man as he shot up from the bench, making the table and plates jerk with his sudden movements, and storm off.

"B-but...you were so accepting of him earlier!" she yelled through her tear-filled eyes as she got up from the bench too. Many gypsies began to catch onto the argument and, one by one, stopped their conversations to listen. The dinner area lay almost silent as Jocelyna, hurt more than ever, watched Daryn continue to storm pass the tables and disappear into the crowd.

When Daryn's silhouette was completely swallowed by the crowd in the distance, Jocelyna slowly sat down on the bench again, one hand clutching her stomach as though in pain and the other clutching the edge of the table as though to stop herself from fainting.

"He was so accepting of him," she whispered to the floor.

Esmeralda placed a hand gently on Jocelyna's hand that was clutching the table. The previous stillness of the area had now been demolished by the laughter and chatter from the many other gypsies that gradually rose around them.

"Jocelyna..." Esmeralda soothingly spoke.

"I just want everything to be ok. For everyone." Jocelyna simply replied, still looking down at the floor. "Why can't it _just_ be ok?" she proclaimed to the saddened gypsy girl opposite her. Her voice was strained and damaged.

"All his life he's had to deal with people like Daryn. Cruel, unkind, heartless, prejudiced people. He's had enough."

"I am so sorry, Jocelyna," Esmeralda spoke.

"You know, I was the one who accepted Daryn. When no one else would, I accepted him. He came here seeking help for his injured daughter as well as shelter. I don't know why but no one looked like they were going to help him...but I did! So, he _knows_ how important acceptance is! It saved his life. So, then why can't he be accepting of others?"

"You know, he's probably just tired. You heard how vague he was when I asked him those questions; he's just exhausted from the travelling _and_ the emotion of his daughter being injured," she gently told the distraught gypsy woman. "Don't worry; I know once he's settled in and the energy has come back to him, he'll be himself again."

Jocelyna sighed weakly and bowed her head again, dejectedly, not at all convinced that it was just lack of energy and the emotion that made him say those horrible things. "I just thought he was different. I'll never make that mistake again."


	13. Chapter 13- Confusion

**Chapter 13- Confusion**

Daryn continued walking through the camp, ignoring the nasty looks from the gypsies he frequently passed. This confused him a great deal.

_Why are they looking at me like that? I'm not that cretin. _

He began searching for Souver but after a quick look around him as he continued to walk, there was no sign of him. No feeling of worry or concern overtook him, as he was certain Souver knew better than to wonder off into the open without telling Daryn so the man knew he was safe. He was perhaps playing with Shep or the other children.

He had reached the empty space that lay in the middle of the camp, the space that was saved for the frequent party, gathering, dance and more commonly occupied by the children for their games. He crossed it, beginning to slow down his pace as he felt the bumpy surface of the cobble slide gracefully underneath his feet. A small smile broke his previous frown as the uneven texture of the ground began to tickle his feet. His smile instantly disappeared, however, when he looked up from the cobble to see at the other end of the large space in a corner, the irregular silhouette of the person he already recognised all too well.

He kept his frown as he marched the rest of the distance across the space until he was standing directly behind Quasimodo. Daryn glanced momentarily at his daughter as she continued to lie angelically on the blankets. His face softened as he looked at her but the familiar contortions of a frown took its place once again when the thing knelt beside her stole his glance.

"Still here are you?" he said impatiently as he remained standing behind Quasimodo, looking fiercely down at him. This look could be likened closely to the look Frollo so often gave the bell ringer. It was a look of utter hate.

Quasimodo had not heard the man come up behind him so he jumped and gasped at the sudden sound of Daryn's voice.

"Oh," he quietly said. He spun round to see Daryn towering over him. "Oh..." he said again. He didn't know what to do. Daryn's reaction to him earlier had made Quasimodo uneasy around him. He eventually decided to back away a little from the girl lying on the blankets and, using one large hand, cover his face. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," he managed to softly say.

"Oh, just stop that, will you? You know you're not fooling anyone with that fake innocence," Daryn spat back at him.

Quasimodo, while still kneeling on the floor, furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as well as in hurt.

Daryn walked the few steps towards Elise and crouched down beside her. He stroked her hair and kissed her soft cheek affectionately. There was no sign yet that she was stirring but the fact that she looked almost content and peaceful put that smile back on the man's face. But, as it did before, upon seeing what looked like a fresh piece of clean cloth tied around the young woman's fragile head, covering the wound, his frown took residence yet again.

_This fiend has actually touched her._

He rubbed at his forehead as he vaguely looked over his shoulder in Quasimodo's direction.

"You...why...why did you touch her?!" he harshly whispered at him.

Once again, the young man furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"I-I-I was just-" Quasimodo quietly stammered.

"Oh for _goodness_ sake!" Daryn yelled, standing up and charging over to Quasimodo who, out of instinct, cowered on the floor even more. He turned his head slightly to cover his face more. "I told you to cut out that _pathetic_ attempt at appearing all innocent and childlike!" he yelled again.

"I-I don't understand," Quasimodo managed to quietly utter as he slowly and cautiously began to stand up.

Daryn slowly closed his eyes impatiently. "I don't know what you want with my daughter and to be frank I don't ever want to know but what I do want is for you to never come near her ever again, do you understand, fiend?"

Quasimodo slowly took his hand from his face as Daryn's words painfully sunk in. The bell ringer just stared at the man, still confused and now very hurt.

"But I-" Quasimodo began.

"My family has been through hell as it is; the last thing we want is for you to put us through any more pain and suffering. What you do to my poor daughter will be the death of me _and_ my son so do us all a favour and _leave my family alone_!"

Daryn folded his arms as he spitefully looked at the upset bell ringer, his words still painfully ringing in Quasimodo's ears. There was silence as both remained where they were. Quasimodo didn't know what to say to something as sudden and hurtful as that.

Daryn then raised his eyebrows as though hinting something.

"What are you waiting for? _Go away_!" he barked to the bell ringer.

All Quasimodo could do was accept it, turn around and walk unevenly away from Daryn and the sleeping Elise. Hurt and pain was beginning to burn his body as he limped across the length of the empty space. He didn't have it in him to look back. He didn't understand it. It was all so sudden. From the man's reaction to his appearance earlier, he understood why he would be distant from him but the sudden lash out at him was totally startling. He had loved caring for Elise all afternoon and early evening. To know that what he was doing would help her recover was absolutely wonderful.

He let out a defeated sigh before looking up to where the dinner area of the camp was. It was crowded as usual. He decided he wouldn't join them, as he wasn't at all hungry and he couldn't face being in a crowd tonight. He just wanted to be alone.

But, as per usual in a camp that sheltered hundreds, being alone came as rare as pink spiders. Three boys, one Quasimodo recognised as the energetic son of the two cooks, Saroyan, leapt up to him excitedly.

"Come play with us, Rhayeder!" Saroyan shrieked at the bell ringer, grabbing his broad arm and pulling eagerly at it.

"Play with us, play with us!" another boy, much younger than Saroyan, chanted.

"Well, thank you, that's lovely of you but I think I might have to sit this one out today."

"Oh, pleeeeeease, Rhayeder!" Saroyan begged, yanking Quasimodo's arm even more.

"I'm sorry but I promise we can play tomorrow," he kindly told them.

All three boys looked at each other.

"You promise?" spoke another boy who looked around the same age as Saroyan.

"I promise," Quasimodo gently said, smiling warmly at all three of them. Those three boys will never know how much strength it took for the bell ringer to smile as warmly as he did.

The two trusted him and took off running past him once Saroyan released his grip on Quasimodo's arm.

The bell ringer looked around to see them sprinting off into the crowds, laughing all the while, before continuing the walk across the empty space. Once he reached the main bit of the camp, he did his best to avoid all eye contact but he couldn't help but notice Jocelyna quickly weaving her way out of the crowd towards him. Quasimodo instantly noticed the hurt look on her face as she paced the few more yards to him.

Once she'd reached him, she stopped and just looked at him as if she was witnessing something horrific happening in front of her. She didn't say a word as she suddenly threw her arms around him and pulled him tightly into her embrace.

The act was completely arbitrary for the bell ringer but it took him no longer than a second to hug her back. Warmth and comfort was all he felt as she held him close. He didn't know what the hug was for but he really didn't care. It was exactly this affectionate act that now gives his life meaning. Love.

Quasimodo heard her exhale as she gently stroked his hair like she had done those many months ago back in that little room in the Cathedral when the bell ringer was finally given a family.

"I'm so sorry, Rhayeder," he heard her whisper in his ear. They eventually broke apart and Quasimodo could now see the speckles of moisture and redness around her blue-grey eyes.

"What for?" he asked her.

She exhaled again and took her sight to the floor. Concern and worry overwhelmed the bell ringer as he watched Jocelyna wring her delicate hands repeatedly- the way Quasimodo did, too, when he was anxious or nervous.

"You don't deserve this..._any_ of this."

"What do you mean?" he asked her again.

"I was wrong about him." She tersely told him. "Daryn. The man who arrived this afternoon. I...I'm sorry, I didn't realise he would be so..."

"It's alright, I don't mind and I'm not at all surprised," he sadly replied, letting out a small sigh.

Jocelyna gave a small nod before looking down at the floor once again. The two continued to stand where they were, not breathing another word.

"Well, I've had enough emotion and drama for one day, I think I'll just call it a night," she eventually said. The exhaustion she was feeling was very much evident in her breathy tone.

Quasimodo nodded before walking with her to their wagons. Jocelyna gave Quasimodo a weak yet warm smile with a look that only a mother can give. Quasimodo smiled back and, once Jocelyna had crawled into her own purple wagon, went inside his own moss-green one. He picked up a blanket from the small pile beside him and arranged it on the wooden flooring. After slowly lying down onto its soft, comforting texture he wrapped the second blanket around his thick frame. It wasn't long before the instant warmth and security of the delicately- knitted blanket sent a wave of tiredness into his body. And, before another minute passed, the familiar sensation of sleep overtook him.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Well there's the newest chapter :-D Sorry for the wait btw, just been a bit busy but I should be writing a bit more now which is always good :-) So what do you guys think of this Daryn character? Thanks for your ever wonderful comments, CARINA L, and we'll just have to see if he does come round and begins to accept Quasi...


	14. Chapter 14- The hunt continues

**Chapter 14- The hunt continues**

The faint howl of a wolf could just about be heard in the distance. Its shrill cries partially veiled by the soft _coo_ of an owl that took up residence on a wildered branch on one of the misshapen trees in the woods.

But these loud shrieks and calls were only heard by their own kind since the heavily cloaked man with his two henchmen were far too occupied with discovering their whereabouts to notice these cries of nature. The curtain fall of dusk made their efforts vain.

The innate rage that had been kept caged and tamed throughout this trip was threatening to escape as, slowly, Marcuse began to realise the directions given to them by the young boy were nothing other than a lie. He, like so many times before on the hunt, never took his eyes away from the road in front of him as though just one sight could make his goal that easier to reach. Fury was beginning to claw its way up his tree-like build as a single, simple sign of some kind of route was growing more unlikely to be found.

The hollow man's eyes could no longer be likened to a pebble or a plain, black button but to the mere cinders fallen from a piece of used coal; drained and utterly lifeless. His eyes had been damaged. The constant anger dwelling inside of him had begun swallowing the last minuscule pieces of his soul. Tearing at it right to the very core- his eyes being the last victim.

The three continued trekking across the forest floor with nothing but the glowing eyes of the owls as their source of light. It looked like there would be no way out for the three hunters. No opening or gap of any kind delighted their sight. Marcuse was growing more and more furious with the thought that he had been tricked by no more than a dirty little child. They were nowhere near Paris for all that surrounded them was rural territory. No spire from a Cathedral or misplaced tile on top of a roof greeted their view. And, as said before, there was not a single sign.

Marcuse did not wait for his soldiers to catch up before suddenly deciding to sprint the length of a temporary clearing in the forest. Thorns and nettles threatened to scrape his stone-like skin as the trees either side of the three men leaned closer towards their bodies as they dashed. They were outnumbered.

Though the minister had no clue as to his whereabouts, something inside him suddenly told him that he was close. The eagerness that had never ceased to take control of him was the very same thing that told him his reward was close. It was an innate, unexplainable sense but a sense that Marcuse did not doubt once. He trusted himself completely. If this thing had told him he would have his reward very soon then that was certainly good enough for him.


	15. Chapter 15- An unexpected friend

Chapter 15- An unexpected friend

The mid-morning breeze began to glide its way into the gypsy camp. Though the spring month was traditionally a warm one, this proved nothing of the case when the sun was barely at its usual peek in the sky and the breeze was less mild and more tender to the skin for those who dared go out in such cold proximities.

The coldness of the breeze had always untouched Quasimodo so he decided to take a walk after completing his duty of ringing the Notre Dame bells to signal morning mass. He had not had breakfast yet but the young man didn't think twice about it this morning since his mind was on other things.

The chill of the morning reached him the instant he left the Cathedral and onto the large square right in front. The stalls were scarce this morning and the only smell of fresh bread and patisseries were from the one small cart that the baker braved to put outside on display. More often than not, the baker would choose not to display his wonderful creations outside during bad or cold weather, as the cold wind would always cruelly sweep all the flavour and smell from the bread and patisseries, leaving nothing but the ghostly scent of cinnamon on the bread and the mild taste of apricot on the patisseries.

The baker, wrapping his few patisseries displayed on the outside cart with a thin tarpaulin, smiled warmly at the bell ringer as he passed.

"Cold today isn't it, Monsieur Rhayeder!" he called through a sudden gust of wind that decided to cut in between them.

"Yeah, it is!" Quasimodo called back as the wind decided to take residence, continuing to brush itself between the two men.

"Where you off to then, my boy?" the Baker asked Quasimodo just as the wind died down, clearly deciding to move on and bother someone else.

"Well, nowhere really, I'm just out for a walk," he cheerily replied.

The Baker nodded happily before hastily returning inside his shop before another gale threatened to come by.

Quasimodo smiled at the now closed Bakery door before deciding to continue down the cobbled street. Not much was going on this morning. Usually there were children playing happily together or the elder folk catching the rays on the wooden benches but no such sight of a child or anyone for that matter was visible. Another gust of cold, heavy wind swept around the bell ringer and lunged itself at the thin doors of the shops, making them swing excitedly, creating a loud bang each time the wood collided with the wall.

Just as the wind chose to play around with a particularly old and brittle door of a shop that appeared just as fragile, Quasimodo noticed, in the display section of that shop, a small gathering of bottles. From his distance, he could just about make out the word, _Lactacalimine_, scribbled absently on one of the smaller bottles. The bell ringer recognised the label at once. It was a type of medicine used for treating rashes and other skin irritations and inflammations. He only knew from his own experience when he would every now and again use it on the young children when they would occasionally develop various bad reactions from the flowers that surrounded and disguised their camp. The children would always ask Quasimodo to apply the medicine, as he would always do it so gently and carefully.

This medicine was expensive and often difficult to come by. It could take years for someone like the gypsies to afford enough money to buy a single small bottle.

The young man made his way up to the shop to leisurely peer at the seven or eight lightly-dusted bottles on the straw covering. He studied every single one of them. He was intrigued with the many different names each bottle had hand- written on its label. Most of them, apart from the _Lactocalimine_, he had never heard of. _Lifiscist_, _Arolium_, _Mecadorphine_ and _Cygilite_ were among the few foreign names he encountered.

He was happily viewing each label and saying their complicated phrases in his head and reading the abilities of each medicine when something his eyes landed on made him gasp. For what took its place behind the other bottles was a thin and heavily- dusted, mahogany- coloured bottle with the label, _Neurolactistium_. He didn't recognise the name but it was upon reading the small, smudged writing underneath the name of the bottle's contents and what it did that made his eyes widen significantly.

_Treats head injuries. A few drops will help clear up infection and repair the cells needed for the patient to make a full recovery. Suitable for any age, keep out of reach of children._

"Treats head injuries..." Quasimodo slowly whispered to himself as he straightened up.

_This is exactly what Elise needs!_ he thought

He was smiling from ear to ear at the thought that this tiny little bottle could actually bring her back into consciousness and save her. But his smile disappeared as quickly as it came when the image of the fairly thin, dark-haired man barged its way into his head. There was one problem: Daryn. Quasimodo closed his eyes slowly and exhaled.

_He would never let me near enough to give it to her,_he thought miserably to himself. From what he got a few days ago from Daryn as a result of being near his daughter partially obliged him not to risk it. Goodness knows what that man could be capable of. He may be fairly thin but Frollo was slim himself and Quasimodo knew all too well of what _he_ was capable of doing to him.

But he desperately wanted Elise to be alright. Though he had only met her a few days ago and she wasn't even conscious for it, he still felt this deep connection with her. It was unexplainable to him but this connection was definitely there. It was like, though he hadn't even spoken to her properly yet or had a conversation with her, he still felt like he knew her. He had to give her the medicine. There was no question about it.

So, before another strong gale had time to bash itself against his side, the bell ringer headed to the shop door and pulled it open. The door was a little stiff from the wind doing its best to hold it closed but, of course, with one swift tug, the door was released from the metal latch and fully open for his entrance.

The shop was fairly small. Quasimodo immediately noticed the floor was slightly lopsided; certain pieces of furniture appeared higher than others due to their positions on the uneven flooring. It was dimly lit with about half a dozen candles placed on the surfaces of the furniture- three on an apothecary table, one on an upturned medicine bottle that stood on the floor and two on a two-legged stool in the corner next to a stuffed owl.

His eyes landed on all corners of the peroquial room. It had a sweet, musty smell to it which he breathed in almost instinctively as he continued to pace his way slowly and cautiously further in. His steps were loud on the worn out, wooden floorboards. The small space of the shop was rather cosy, creating a homey feel to it with the syrupy smell gliding through the air as well as the dim lighting, making it almost mystical.

Quasimodo stopped walking when he heard someone in the near distance give a small cough to clear their throat. His foot happened to land on a particularly creaky floorboard as he did so. He held his breath, frightened the owner of that sound would instantly kick him out upon seeing him. But no sound of storming steps on the floorboards met his ears. He exhaled in relief and continued his way into the shop until he was standing beside a tall cupboard. He could just about spot an old table to the left of the dresser and the left shoulder of, what Quasimodo assumed, the person he had heard clear his throat. The man appeared to be writing something since the bell ringer noticed his left elbow come into view briefly before drawing back in again.

Quasimodo didn't want to frighten the man with his appearance, as he wasn't too sure whether or not he would know him or, worse, be accepting of him. Though the bell ringer had plenty of admirers now, it wasn't everyone in Paris who knew and admired him. Even today, there were those few who still only saw him as what his appearance let on. So, he decided to stay in his place to the right side of the tall cupboard, out of view from the man behind the desk whose view of Quasimodo was obstructed by the cupboard.

As he decided to stand there a little longer, awaiting the confidence to walk forward into the man's sight, the young man began to just breathe in that sweet, sugary smell. It was comforting. No doubt it was the smell of the medicine that created this unique aroma. He could notice now that they took residence in most areas of the shop. There were bottles of all kinds on display along all four walls of the shop. On shelves, on tables, in wooden cabinets and on the floor in large piles. Each one appeared identical to the next but as Quasimodo observed them more, he could begin to spot the miniscule differences between each one. It was from telling the bells in the tower apart that gave him this wonderful and unique ability.

He continued breathing in the beautiful scent when suddenly a speckle of dust from the old cupboard he was leaning against broke away and flew straight into his mouth. Without being able to stop himself, Quasimodo coughed loudly. He immediately held his breath once again when the faint sound of a quill scratching against parchment had suddenly ceased.

"Hello?" came a slightly husky, aged voice. It was clearly the voice of an elderly man. "Hello? I know you're there, now," he called again. Quasimodo noticed this man's voice was similar to that of the Archdeacon's. This voice, too, possessed a kind and soft quality to it.

Quasimodo couldn't help but answer back. He didn't want the elderly man thinking he was here to harm him by remaining all silent and mysterious.

"I-I'm sorry, Monsieur, I-I just wanted to come in to...to ask a question," Quasimodo stammered as he edged away from the security of the side of the cupboard and into the centre of the small room. He was now in plain sight of the elderly man. He kept his head slightly bowed as to not startle the man sitting behind the desk in front of him.

There was silence between them both. Quasimodo couldn't tell exactly what was written on the man's face since he kept his sight fixed on the uneven floorboards. But, after a good half a minute of a very uncomfortable silence, what he could see was the man slowly setting down the quill he had been using to write with before placing his hands respectfully on the desk.

"My boy," the man whispered. "You don't have to be afraid of an old man like me," he told the bell ringer kindly.

Quasimodo lifted his head and looked right in front of him. He couldn't make eye contact with the elderly man yet but this was definitely a start. He could now see him fully. His frame was thin and frail, much thinner than Daryn's. He, indeed, was rather elderly. His hair was thin, almost nonexistent, but one could see a fair few short strands of what was once a golden colour fray from his delicate head. His eyes were small, slightly slanted but their chocolate-brown colour gave them a somewhat fresh, young quality. His clothes were well-kept and were all a straw-ish colour. What Quasimodo noticed the most was the fact that the man was actually _smiling_ at him.

"What are you doing standing all the way over there? Come now, come forward, lad."

Quasimodo hesitated but did exactly what the elderly man requested of him. He limped as elegantly as his erratic gait would allow up to the desk the man was sitting behind.

"Right, my son, that's better isn't it? Now, how can I help you?"

The young man had completely forgotten why he was in the shop in the first place. He noticed the man's eager eyes upon him before glancing briefly at the display section that he had seen from outside.

"Oh, right, um...well, I-I saw this bottle in the display and I-I was just wondering h-how much it was...sir," he politely, as ever, spoke to the elderly man.

"Ah, I see and which bottle was it?"

"I've forgotten the name, I'm sorry," Quasimodo quietly replied, looking ashamed as though this was some sort of crime.

"Not to worry, lad" the elderly man told him, a chuckle was evident in his ripe voice.

He got up off the stool and shuffled over to the display section.

"Now, do you remember what this medicine did? Maybe I could give it a shot of finding it from the description." His tone was almost condescending but Quasimodo was so grateful it wasn't aggressive that he didn't care a bit. It was clear now that this man was one of the few around here who didn't know the bell ringer. The fact that he didn't address him with his new name told him this. This Quasimodo liked very much, as the man had never seen him before and yet he was kind to him. He already had a lot of respect for this friendly shop keeper.

"I-I think it said it helped with head injuries," the bell ringer explained.

"Ah! That's easy, that's the_Neurolactistium_ one," the elderly man replied as he purposely reached for the thin bottle in the back row behind the others. He had plainly memorised each medicine's position enough to know them without having to read their labels.

"Here we are," he said as he made his way back to the frail desk, clutching the thin bottle in his hand. "Right, let's have a look here." He raised the bottle above his head to see the price tag that had been stuck to the bottom. Quasimodo noticed how the man's frail hands shook slightly as they were caught in the light of a nearby candle. He furrowed his eyebrows when his eyes met the bottom of the bottle.

"Huh that's funny," he spoke in a breathy tone.

"Is everything alright, sir?" Quasimodo quietly spoke.

"Yes, yes it's just I can't seem to find the price label." He slowly set the bottle down again. "Well, not to worry, not to worry."

"I-I can come back, sir," he timidly said again.

The elderly man stopped searching under his thin pile of parchment on the desk and just looked at the young man before him before laughing lightly.

"Don't keep calling me 'sir', lad, it makes me feel far too proud," he cheerily told the bell ringer. "I'm just a simple apothecary."

Quasimodo smiled warmly at him.

The man continued to look at him again, as though studying him, before leaning on his elbows on the table in a rather curious manner.

"I know I'm diverting off the topic of the medicine but I just wanted to ask you something. You're not from around here, are you? Forgive me, lad, but I would have remembered someone like you."

Quasimodo blinked at him, surprised by his openness towards him.

"Oh...well, actually I've l-lived here all my life," he nervously said.

"Really? I'm very surprised I haven't seen you around here before. I've lived here all my life too, just upstairs."

"Well, that's probably because I was living in the Cathedral until a few months ago," he shyly explained. "I, er, didn't really go out very much..."

"No wonder then!" he replied, cheerily. This man was oddly lively for someone of his years.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard of the demon of Notre Dame," Quasimodo miserably said. His words were sour and dry. He didn't know what urged him to say that but the words seemed to have taken lead of their own.

"Oh, come on now, son, I'm not one to judge," he kindly yet firmly told the young man. "Especially not about someone as sweet and innocent as you, my boy.

Quasimodo blinked at him again. Usually it would take ages for someone to get used to him let alone not judge him in the first place. This was definitely a first. The bell ringer smiled appreciatively at him.

"Now," the shop owner said sombrely, his body still resting on his elbows on the desk. "May I ask why it is you wish to purchase this particular medicine?"

"Of course. Well, it's just...I have this...friend back where I live and she's badly hurt her head. She hasn't woken up in three days. We're all really worried about her."

The elderly man observed Quasimodo's strained expression for a moment before studying his awkward, nervous posture.

"I see," he quietly responded. "Well, you look like you've worried enough about her as it is. I'd hate for you to worry anymore so, seeing as the price label is goodness knows where and my memory's too abysmal now to remember the cost, I am going to give you the bottle free of charge."

"What?" Quasimodo whispered.

"Free of charge, son. Come, I can't have her _and_ yourself in pain any longer so I'm giving the medicine to you for free. It's quite a small bottle anyway and it's been standing there unhappily for months, if not, years."

The look on Quasimodo's deformed visage was absolutely priceless. He looked as though the elderly man had just given him his entire lottery prize winnings. The man couldn't help laughing at such a grateful face.

"P-please, is there anything I can give in return, sir?" Quasimodo eagerly asked.

"A simple 'thank you' would fit the bill perfectly," replied the man with a grin.

"Th-thank you so, so much, sir."

"It's my pleasure, son," the man said as he picked up the bottle on the desk and placed it in Quasimodo's cupped hands as though he were about to receive water for the first time in a while.

"My name's Everrol by the way, son."

The bell ringer looked up from stroking the bottle with his coarse fingers as though it were as delicate as a butterfly. He smiled at him in acknowledgement.

"I'm Quasi- um, I-I-I mean, Rhayeder..." he quickly corrected. He was mentally kicking himself now.

_Where did that come from?_he thought.

"Sorry, what?" asked the man, leaning slightly forward in a teasingly intimidating way.

"Rhayeder...m-my name is Rhayeder."

"You said something else before that."

"Oh, I-it's nothing, I-it's just I-I got confused with...another name..." It was official; he really was the worst liar ever.

"Quasimodo. That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?"

"Well," he knew the man knew so he may as well tell the truth. This man was kind after all. "Yes...yes it was..."

"'Quasimodo...the Hunchback... of Notre Dame,'" Everrol slowly recited, lifting his head as though in the middle of a flashback.

Quasimodo instantly knew where Everrol had heard that line before.

_He knows me after all_ he miserably thought. He knew it was too unlikely to have a complete stranger be so used to him so quickly even after the recent change in treatment he was receiving from the townsfolk.

"Of course," announced Everrol abruptly after coming back to earth again. "I know who you are."

The bell ringer didn't say anything in response. What _can_ you say to that?

"I think I might have seen you at the festival last year. My memory's not what it used to be but now it's all coming back to me. Yes...now I remember... you were the King of Fools! I remember, even then, thinking how unique the name was that was being announced by that funny man who dressed in lots of colours...and then...oh...oh, right..."

Quasimodo knew instantly what part of the festival Everrol had just remembered and he cringed from the pain of having the memory still.

"Yeah...um..." he cleared his throat, "that wasn't one of my best days..."

"Well, I hope things are better now for you, Rhayeder," Everrol kindly said. "You know, I've been out of town these past few months which is maybe why I didn't know your new name until now. Zenia, my sister, was running the shop while I was away."

Everrol then, without warning, launched into a rundown of the few months he'd spent out of Paris. Quasimodo just nodded and made the occasional sound of interest as he politely listened to the elderly man speak about his trip around the rest of Europe to discover more ingredients for medicine. There was no doubt whatsoever that Everrol could talk for the whole of France.

"...and I must say, though it tasted of pig's blood, it definitely got rid of my throat infection!" Everrol laughed.

Quasimodo courteously laughed too but, as Frollo had told him one too many times, he was an open book so Everrol instantly detected that this laugh was slightly forced.

"Now, get going, lad, I don't want that girl of yours to be in any more pain," he gently told the Bell ringer.

Quasimodo wasn't able to stop the startling shade of red from forming on his cheeks when the elderly man said this. He didn't have a clue what this was all about. To the young man's dismay, Everrol noticed this blush but he merely smiled before playfully nodding his head towards the door.

"Well," he cleared his throat to hide the embarrassment in his voice, "it was lovely to meet you, sir," said the bell ringer as he headed for the door with the bottle in his hand. The bottle was almost miniscule in his large hand.

"Good day, Rhayeder," Everrol replied with a warm smile similar to the one Jocelyna so often gave Quasimodo. It was a look of pure fondness.

Quasimodo stopped to smile back at Everrol before stepping out into the cold once again, not looking back as he headed to the camp, clutching the small medicine bottle tightly in his hand as if his entire life depended on its safety.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Sorry for the long wait again! If I may say so myself, this was quite a cute little chapter here :) it isn't too significant to the plot, I just thought it'd be quite nice to have this for little Quasi :-D

Sooo, as ever R&R! It would mean a lot :D


	16. Chapter 16- Staying strong

**Chapter 16- Staying strong**

"Morning, boy," spoke Souver happily once he'd reached the very back of the camp and entered the camp's makeshift barn. He bent down to stroke their elderly horse, Shep who was lying contently on the soft hay floor.

The barn didn't have a large number of residents. The only animals that were in the small barn were those that were of use to the camp's population. There were a fair number of goats in the far end of the barn which, Souver noticed, were regularly let out and played with by individual gypsies as though the goats were their actual pets. A small number of Hens and Chickens adorned the back of the barn, snuggling up in the few straws of hay, protecting their eggs. Sadly enough, the only horse that took up residence in this tiny yet somewhat cosy barn was Shep himself. Souver had worried about this at first but the horse seemed to be really enjoying his new found company since he seemed reluctant to be led forward into the open where the rest of the camp was in full view.

"You hungry then?" whispered Souver playfully as he brought his hand from behind his back to reveal a whole, raw parsnip. The colour of this tasty delicacy was particularly appealing to the elderly horse but the smell was what led him to grasp his mouth over the entire length of the vegetable and snatch it from the boy's hand in one, swift, slightly wet, motion. Souver smiled brightly as Shep ate greedily at his breakfast.

The young boy looked fondly at the grateful horse as he munched away before stroking his nose with one delicate hand.

"You know, my dad will tell me off for eating like that but you always seem to get away with it."

The horse didn't cease chomping at the parsnip but Souver knew Shep acknowledged this by the small grunt he made.

When there was no trace of parsnip, or drool for that matter, Souver slowly rested his bushy, dark hair onto Shep's side. The boy had always rested his head in exactly the same position, even when he was much younger. This was where Souver could hear the soft yet strong drums of Shep's heart. This sound was comforting for the boy. Many times when ever Souver was temporarily missing, Daryn would often find him in their own makeshift barn, snuggled up to Shep in the soft hay with his head gently rested on that same spot, fast asleep.

With the current situation with Elise, Souver needed all the comforting he could get. Shep had always been a part of the family and he had always been the one Souver ran to when life ever got him down. Elise and Daryn would often try to give him words of comfort whenever they saw him like that. But Souver never wanted words. They never soothed him. After all, they were just words. The only one who could truly console the young boy was the elderly, grey horse that could express anything with just a single look or gesture.

This was just what the boy needed. His family had been here for almost a week now and not an hour had passed when he didn't think of his sister. How vulnerable she looked as she just lay there on the blankets on the cold floor of the camp. He had tended to her at every chance he got. He changed the 'bandage' over her wound, finished scrubbing the last little bit of dirt off her graceful arms and knees and brushed her hair. A few of the gypsies now also tend to her, try to help her awaken and sit with her every now and again. But Souver was never comfortable with this. They were just strangers to her.

For one horrible moment, Souver had even thought Elise was dead when he'd leant in to kiss her cheek and had felt no heartbeat or pulse. Or so he thought until Daryn checked again and, sure enough, the pulses of her heart came loud and strong under the cool touch of his palm.

They had both tried to feed her. But how? Both, afraid she might choke, resorted to water but when Daryn had scooped a tablespoon of water and brought it to her lips, it merely trickled off the spoon, over her lips and down her left cheek. Seeing his sister in the condition that she is in is the most tormenting thing Souver has ever experienced.

The tender moment between the two was interrupted when Souver heard the quick tapping of several feet that, with every step, grew louder. The boy, who had momentarily closed his eyes, opened them to see three boys, about the same age as him, standing in front of him with excited expressions.

Saroyan, the only son of the camp chefs, of course, spoke first.

"We're playing Dodge Ball!"

It seemed Saroyan and the other boys had just skipped all the way to the barn just to announce their plans to Souver. But, knowing Saroyan a little better now, Souver knew this terse sentence meant he was invited to play too.

The boy smiled appreciatively at Saroyan and the other boys. Shep seemed he had his own friends to be with, as Souver watched as he cheerily strolled back into the darkness of the barn before collapsing onto the only small bit of hay that had not been taken up by a particularly fat goat.

Souver looked back to make sure Shep would be alright before heading off with the group of boys to the square he knew very well now as the large space that the children play on. He smiled and greeted a few people as he walked by. He was beginning to be known throughout the camp now as "the sweet brother of that girl with the head injury" so everyone was happy to return his cheery greetings.

The game was pretty brutal.

There were more children already on the square, waiting for more opponents. There were at least a dozen brown, stitched balls placed in a pile in the middle of the square. Their ready stances looked almost threatening. It was as though the game would be the children against the balls themselves.

Souver didn't like the fact that Elise was just a few yards off the square in the far corner. If anyone accidently chucked a ball her way...Souver dreaded to think about it. But before he could protest, the flash of dark brown making its way through the air in the corner of his eye signalled the game had already begun. There wasn't anything he could do now. Besides, these boys would surely know she was there too so they'd certainly have the decency to throw softer than usual. Wouldn't they?

Souver immediately got enticed in the game and positioned himself as what he hoped looked as intimidating and menacing as the dodge balls in the pile. There were no set teams; everyone was fighting against each other. There would only be one winner.

Once the first ball had been thrown arbitrarily, almost immediately, a swarm of brown spheres began soaring over their heads before scattering to every direction and landing on the targets. Soon came the shrieks and laughs as the prey had been caught. Most of these screams were exaggerated which Souver didn't appreciate at all, as, every time a dramatic scream reached his ears, he instantly thought it would either be Elise from the pain of her wound or someone discovering Elise had suddenly taken a turn for the worst...

He had to stop thinking about those sorts of things.

He shook his head and was brought back to the game. A fair few of the children were already standing glumly at the sides of the square, obviously the easiest targets. Souver smiled a little at this. His smile widened when, at last, a ball rolled straight towards his feet. He immediately picked it up, dodging a flying ball in the process, and clung it tight to his chest as though it were as precious as a baby. He eyed the still many children running madly around the large space. He looked to all directions around him. He noticed a few of the adults had stopped their activities to look on. He wanted to give them a good show.

He looked around one more time, a grin reaching his lips with the power he now had to get someone out before spotting something just a few yards ahead of him near the camp entrance. His grin dropped as quickly as the ball would if he ever dropped it. He recognised those large, gorilla-like arms, that pale skin, striking red hair, that seriously misshapen face and that large hump on his back. It was Quasimodo. He absently curled his lips at the sight.

He saw him just standing there lamely. He never took his eyes off him. Souver's eyes narrowed with every minute he saw him just standing there. He noticed Quasimodo's fist was tightly clenched as though holding himself back from some kind of angry outburst. But then he moved. Souver followed him with his dark eyes as he limped around the square, quite quickly in his attempt to not be hit by one of the flying balls. He eventually stopped. Souver's eyebrows creased when he saw Quasimodo had stopped exactly where Elise was.

He continued to just stare at the bell ringer. He watched as Quasimodo leaned over Elise before bending down slowly and carefully as though he were standing on a very small platform suspended over a pool of lava.

_What is he doing? What is he doing near her?! Why-_

_BAM!_

Souver was instantly swept right off his feet and onto his bony back on the hard, stone ground. A shade of brown bounced past him and off under a wagon behind. A child began laughing from the other end of the square. Groaning in pain, the boy managed to crane his neck to see Saroyan jumping around wildly, waving his arms in the air in victory. He had got him. He had been so distracted by finding out what Quasimodo was doing with Elise that he didn't notice Saroyan hurl a particularly large dodge ball right at his forehead, the impact knocking him clean off his feet.

His eyes were growing hazy. Dizziness began creeping over him the minute he attempted to stand up. A sudden jolt of pain from his head took the strength from him, pinning him to the ground. He thought he could hear muffled voices from around him, some sounded concerned but his hearing was far too misty to properly make out their tones.

"W-whyyyyy...yooooou...talking so...w-weir...ddddddd?" Souver slowly gabbled as the dizziness became more and more powerful over his tiny frame.

A sudden shot of moss- green came into his hazed view. He was far too lightheaded to figure out what it was. Then another strange sound met his almost useless ears before quieter ones followed from all around him.

And then, all of a sudden, he found the cold texture of the cobbled ground no longer pressured his bony back. His entire body was floating in mid-air. Being very disorientated at this point, Souver thought he was actually flying.

"Evvvverrrrry...one... looook at...m-m-m-eeeeeeeee," Souver found himself babbling again, flapping his arms for a second, as the dizziness took over him more.

His eyes very gradually began shutting. The temporary lack of sight made his other senses stronger. He suddenly felt very warm, as though he were wrapped in a blanket that had been lying in a desert. His muffled hearing picked up the faint sound of a heartbeat and, for a moment, Souver dreamily wondered if he was back curled up to Shep. He instinctively snuggled into that warmth and let those soft heartbeats wrap around him like a blanket.

He smiled sleepily before letting the owner of those wonderful heartbeats carry him away.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Woooo latest chapter up! A little note about Elise, I'm sure, from reading it, that its kinda weird having this girl just lying on the ground constantly for a week in the Court of Miracles but she's in the equivalent of a coma (of course people back then didn't know that sort of thing) so it's not like she can do much else at that point...but yeah! You never know when she will awaken...or will she?! :P

Also, I know Souver's being a bit of a prick to Quasi with what he's thinking and all but he actually is a sweet boy who's just scared for his sister. You know what kids can be like... :D

Soooo stay tuned! And please review! I hope the wait wasn't too long this time...


	17. Chapter 17- Misaprehension

**Chapter 17- Misapprehension **

"C-can you hear me?"

That voice was soft, soothing to listen to.

"Mm-mm," the young boy absently replied. Souver very slowly opened his eyes. He allowed his pupils to adjust to the sudden brightness before opening them fully. In the meantime, he relied on his sense of touch to better understand his whereabouts. All he could feel was hard, rough surface beneath him. It felt a lot like dried mud. He knew he was sitting down, as his lower back was slightly sore from the pressure of the hard earth on his bones.

He gasped loudly in surprise when his eyes fixed themselves onto the first thing they saw. A young man was sitting down awkwardly opposite the boy, looking him with a gentle yet concerned expression. This man's eyes were the things Souver noticed the most, as their amazing blue-green colour was too wonderful not to look at. But when Souver's own dark chocolate eyes fully returned to their usual good condition, the other features, a lot, lot less appealing, were the ones to be noticed now. He recognised those unfortunate traits at once.

"You," Souver breathed at the young man, "where, where have you taken me?!" he barked.

"It's alright," Quasimodo gently replied, "I've just taken you outside. I-I thought you might like some fresh air."

Souver narrowed his eyes at the man, suspicious of his unexpected kindness before drifting them around him. The space that surrounded him was entirely pastoral. Thick, over-grown bushes littered the paths in all directions. His frail body was outnumbered by their masses. The boy noticed a few of these bushes had several wild flowers drifting out of them, their fine stems lengthening far past the tips of the greenery, being the only ones to be swayed by the cool breeze. He then whisked his head to the left of him where he saw the one bush almost every gypsy in Paris could distinguish from the rest. Its leaves were more flaccid than the ones on the other bushes, its colour far less pleasing to look at. But the flowers growing out of its roots by far were the most brilliant and exuberant than the bushes nearby. The shades of each individual petal complimented the colour of the next fine petal beautifully, creating a pallet of dazzling, dancing colours that made it almost impossible for a passer-by not to stop and admire them. This particular bush, Souver recognised, concealed the camp entrance.

Once the boy had taken in all his surroundings fully, he shot at the young man again with his delicate, russet eyes. His sight had completely returned to its usual state and the dizziness he had felt was now a stranger to him. He did, however, notice sharp pains pulsing from his head. He gently touched at his forehead but immediately drew back when the pain increased considerably from the pressure.

"Don't," came that voice. Its tone hadn't lost its natural softness but there was a firm texture to it now. "It needs time to heal. Here," the man revealed to Souver a large, furry-looking leaf, "hold this to your forehead, it should help."

Souver looked at him, questioningly.

"I-I've used it a few times before when the children would sometimes get stung by the stinging nettles from these bushes on their way into the camp. I've always kept the leaves handy. They have soothing properties."

Souver gingerly took the leaf from the bell ringer and dabbed it lightly at his forehead. The pain reduced instantly.

"Thanks," Souver mumbled.

"I'm Rhayeder by the way," Quasimodo announced, smiling warmly.

"I know who you are. You're the bell ringer of that big Cathedral. I saw you with Elise the other day."

The boy's abrupt train of thought caught Quasimodo off guard.

"Oh...um..." He was suddenly embarrassed. "W-well, y-yes I was but I was just seeing if I could do anything for her...and her family."

"I'm her family," Souver tersely replied in a sour voice. He was still suspicious of the bell ringer's surprising kindness. "And my Father told me not to talk to you or be near you." He looked at Quasimodo with cold eyes.

The words seared the young man as though they were actual tangible objects. He didn't want to look at the boy, as he knew that look all too well and seeing it would only add to the endless mountain of misery as a result of years of having it stare at him constantly.

"I-I'm sorry..." was all he could whisper.

After putting two and two together, Quasimodo knew who exactly it was who had told the boy this- Daryn.

Souver threw the furry leaf into one of the bushes and adjusted his seating position to something he hoped would be more intimidating. The size difference between the two was, of course, a drastic one. No child could ever square up to someone of Quasimodo's build without having to take careful measures.

"What do you want with Elise? This family's had enough things happen to it. The last thing we want is for you to add more pain and suffering so leave us alone!" Souver shouted.

Quasimodo brought his head up as a thought suddenly occurred to him. He had felt those exact words pierce him before only a few days ago. And then he realised.

Daryn had been brainwashing his son, leading him to believe the rubbish he, himself, believed. The poor boy probably didn't even know what he was saying. Quasimodo had had to deal with years of Frollo's powerful influences upon his way of thinking and eventually obtain the strength to rise up from it. Both Quasimodo and Souver already had a lot in common.

Quasimodo wasn't going to let another innocent person be the victim of propaganda.

"Listen..." the bell ringer said as he inhaled and adjusted his seating position. "You really don't have to believe those lies." Quasimodo was proud of his confidence to say that. He really had come a long way since his days in the bell tower.

"How do _you_ know they're lies?" Souver spitefully shot back.

"I know you don't really believe them." Souver's expression softened for a moment.

"How do _you_ know?" replied the boy.

"Because you would have run away the first second you saw it was me in front of you. From what you've been told by your Father, you wouldn't have ever dreamed of being this close to me."

The man had a point.

For a second, Quasimodo thought he saw the start of a gracious smile begin to form on the boy's lips. And then, to the bell ringer's delight, the rest of the smile graced the boy's face.

"I...I guess I knew you were only trying to help my sister," said the boy, momentarily focusing his eyes on a crab spider that had begun cautiously crawling its way from a nearby bush. "When I saw you with her on the day we came."

The bell ringer smiled warmly at him. "But I understand, after what you had all been through, how uncomfortable it was to have a complete stranger linger over her...especially...a stranger who looked like me."

The pain in Quasimodo's voice made Souver's stomach tighten.

"That had never bothered me, you know," Souver whispered, turning his attention to the droplets of dew on the flower stems.

Quasimodo just looked at him, confused. "What?"

"I mean, at first it...sort of scared me...but that was it. I only wanted to please my Father..." He finally looked at Quasimodo in the eye with a guilty expression. "He had told me about you, how you only wanted to hurt Elise more and that I should stay clear of you If I didn't want to be a victim too..." Souver felt absolutely terrible saying this to Quasimodo's hurt face. "I knew if I told him what I really thought about you, he'd tell me off and I didn't want him to be mad at me. I knew that liking you wouldn't please him so I tried not to. I just agreed with him and acted the same way so he'd be proud of me. I'm really, really sorry...Rhayeder."

There was silence between the two as Quasimodo took this all in. Yet again, the bell ringer was reminded of the 'relationship' between Frollo and himself. How Quasimodo had spent all his twenty years in that tower trying to do anything in his will to satisfy his stone-hearted Master but never in all those attempts was he successful.

Looking at the boy's wounded expression pained him so he sighed softly and smiled his infamous bright, warm smile. This perked up the boy almost instantly, knowing that the harm was no longer there.

"I forgive you," Quasimodo eventually said.

"You're a really nice person, Rhayeder." Quasimodo smiled, sheepishly. "You helped look after my sister and you've now helped me. That lady's lucky to have you for a son."

The bell ringer assumed he was talking about Jocelyna. His attention had now turned to the bruise that had now formed on the boy's forehead.

"You could give your sister a run for her money with that," Quasimodo joked, gesturing to Souver's forehead.

Souver didn't feel like laughing with the subject of Elise being brought up but it seemed right now that laughing was the only thing that seemed right. As it turns out, the simple hearty laugh he made was really needed.

"How about we go back inside so you can give Saroyan a run for _his_ money," Quasimodo cheerily said. Souver grinned maliciously at the thought before bolting straight off the ground and reaching for Quasimodo's hand to be led in. This simple, heart-felt gesture made Quasimodo's smile widen. He was beaming with joy.

"Oh," began the boy, making them both stop abruptly at the bush which concealed the camp entrance. I'm Souver, by the way."

**D'aawww. See, I told you Souver was a sweet boy after all :D Darn that Daryn! It seems Marcuse isn't the only villain in this...**


	18. Chapter 18- Tis finally done

**Chapter 18- Tis finally done**

Quasimodo had kept the bottle safely concealed in his palm that morning, not daring to release his firm grip on its cold rim even when he'd reached the Court of Miracles. This was more precious than he, himself, even realised.

His return went unnoticed, as almost every resident in the camp was busy. It was usually busy at this time most days since there was always the most things needing to be done- preparing the banquet for lunch, cleaning the clothes ready for the...

Quasimodo ran over this somewhat interesting day in his head as he lay wide awake in his bed. For some reason his bed seemed a lot smaller than usual. The cosy, warm feeling he always felt when in his wagon had disappeared all of a sudden. All that was left was the rich, musty smell of the pine boards around him. Its scent was far too strong for Quasimodo not to notice even with his awareness being fixed somewhere else entirely. He couldn't understand why he was no longer greeted with the wonderfully familiar sense of warmth and protection when he tiredly crawled under his blankets that night. It was as if he was an intruder in his own home. His own wagon was the closest thing to the bell tower. The protection and security of those blankets had welcomed him every night just like the bells had always welcomed him through their song. He then got the all too familiar feeling of abandonment.

But the bell ringer decided not to think about this just at the moment, as his mind was dragged yet again to the events of that afternoon. He had hidden that precious bottle of medicine in a blanket in the far end of his bed so it was hidden in the dark. He had wrapped the blanket several times in order for full concealment. He didn't want one little drop going missing.

He shot a weary glance at the tightly wrapped blanket at the head of the wagon, half-smiled to himself and adjusted under his blankets onto his left side. Sleep was beginning to chase him but it wasn't strong enough to catch him just yet so the bell ringer lay there as he ran the day's events through his head.

The pleasant surprise he got when the elderly shop keeper welcomed him and showed him pure kindness. The sheer joy he felt when he'd found that small bottle of medicine and the possibility that this could actually mean the difference between life and death for the young woman. And the absolutely wonderful experience of having Elise's younger brother, Souver accept him and the relief that the boy's former distance and bitterness towards him was merely his attempt to please Daryn.

On the other hand, Daryn, himself, brought an entirely different feeling to Quasimodo. One of hurt and pain. There had been no improvement with the man. This was proven when Souver had returned to the Dodge Ball game and the young man had returned to subtly check if the angelic young woman needed anything. The instantly threatening silhouette of Daryn leaking into the corner of the bell ringer's eye and the look of hate and disgust depicted on the man's face threw Quasimodo away from the girl and heading as far away from her as he thought he'd be allowed. So, no change there. But the euphoria from the other bigger events of the day immediately swiped that from his mind.

He smiled to himself again when he heard the soft _clunk _of footsteps as they met with wood from outside, signalling Jocelyna's own retirement to bed for the night. What followed was almost silence, telling him the entire camp was now asleep.

He wanted to tell Jocelyna about the medicine and of his intentions to give it to the young woman but she had spent the whole day outside the camp, hunting for fruits and vegetables with Esmeralda and a few other women in the forests and swamps outside the Paris walls. He'd tell her soon enough. He whispered a soft _goodnight _in the direction of Jocelyna's wagon before turning back and closing his eyes.

But, to his surprise, he found that all of a sudden he wasn't tired at all. The preceding drained sensation had leaked from his body entirely. He wondered if he'd stay like this all night- wide awake and on full alert.

Then, a thought suddenly climbed into his head.

_If I'm going to do it, now would be the time._

He can't. Could he? Could he really do it now? Could he really go out, sneak over to Elise and give her the medicine now? Yes. He could do it. He will do it. That was all it took to convince him. The fight to restrain himself was finally over.

Not daring to breathe, the bell ringer slowly shuffled out of bed and retrieved the tightly folded blanket. With one quick motion, the tiny bottle fell straight into his large palm. He then crawled his way, on his free hand, out and down the wooden steps. He was out. Thankfully, he was not in pitch darkness; several candles scattered the camp in all angles so his path was more than visible to him.

Without hesitation, he clutched the bottle tightly in his large hand and edged very slowly and carefully the length of his wagon to the young woman in the furthest corner of the camp. The cobbled ground was cold under the thin material of his shoes but he barely noticed.

At last, he made out the slender contours of the young woman stretched gracefully on several blankets on the floor in front. He hoped those blankets shielded her from the coldness of the ground. He cautiously filled the small distance towards her. Finally, he was standing only millimetres away.

He did a quick sweep of the area for any sign of movement before pinning a gentle gaze upon her once again. He could see her face perfectly in the dimmed lighting. She was just as beautiful as he remembered the first time he shamed her beauty by looking at her with his deformed eyes.

Glad to still feel the medicine bottle's cold surface hidden in his fist, the bell ringer knelt down beside her, opened his hand and placed it on the ground next to him. He then took that one moment to consider this. Everything was right in front of him. He so badly wanted this special young woman to be alright. He wanted to end this suffering. The power to do it was sitting by his knee, contained in that little dark brown bottle.

He reached for it, hesitated for a second and opened its stiff lid. A few flakes of dried liquid peeled off as the young man unscrewed it. A strong, rich and very, very unpleasant smell reached his senses instantly. It was sweet yet with a bitter edge which reflected its years of just sitting in the store, untouched. He held his breath as he peeped into its murky contents. There wasn't much, but there was enough.

He slowly and gingerly leaned further over the girl as though any sudden movements could frighten her slumbering body. He took his right hand and placed it ever so gently and lightly under the back of her fragile head, letting her soft, mahogany locks curtain his coarse fingers as he lifted her head up. He tried very carefully not to put any pressure on her wound. He then lifted the medicine bottle to her lips, slowly and warily so as to be careful not to spill a single drop. What would happen next was unknown to him. Her fate was indefinite to him. Would this medicine even work?

He could hardly even believe what he was doing. Being so close to her, holding her head in his strong hands was beyond words. He couldn't hold back a small smile as he gazed upon her beautiful face once again. But with hidden hope that she didn't suddenly wake up there and then to see his own hideous face.

He shook himself out of his latest procrastination and continued rising the medicine to her lips. Though the lighting was dimmed, he could, nonetheless, see her features perfectly. His superhuman night vision was acquired from back in the bell tower. Breathing slowly as to relax himself from the thought of what he was actually doing, he tilted the bottle very slowly towards her slightly open mouth and poured the medicine in drop by drop so that she didn't choke. He gently cupped his free hand around her bottom lip to stop the liquid from spilling.

He let the drops of medicine pour into her mouth for a few more seconds before deciding that would be enough for now. He had done it. He had finally done it. His bit to save her was complete. Now all he could do was wait and see if it had actually worked. As he laid her head lightly on the blankets once again and retrieved his hand, he quietly muttered a simple prayer, stroking her thick curls ever so softly.

_Please, save her._

Tiredness was beginning to come back to him now. The anxiety of this whole event had exhausted him. He found the air around him peaceful, taking him deeper into a quiet, empty realm. He was too worn out to fight the exhaustion any longer so he curled up on the stone ground as he let sleep consume him fully. Its gentle arms rocking him into oblivion.

**Yaaay! He did it! **

**Oh yeah, some of you awesome people might be thinking, how is this girl still alive when she's not been fed or given water for almost a week? To be honest, she wouldn't be in real life without one of those drips you get in hospitals but it's a story I guess and anything can happen! :D**


	19. Chapter 19- Answer

**Chapter 19- Answer**

The Minister remained silent as he drummed his stone fingers on the oak table, his long nails scratching violently on the surface with every meeting of his fingers to the table. His two guards winced every time the unpleasant sound reached their ears.

The tavern was small. He had demanded a seat at the far end in a poorly lit corner since he would rather cut his ankle off than be around those drunken brutes. The dregs of human kind.

Marcuse and his faithful soldiers had been hunting the woods for any sign that could lead them to somewhere. The darkness of the night made it even trickier in finding the right trail They had journeyed the deceiving path for days, verging on a week. The Minister knew it would be his best chance of rest upon hearing the hoarse, drunken echoes that sounded nearby.

The unmistakable rotting stench of putrid beer filled the air of the small pub as well as the coarse floor which was almost black with the numerous patches of dried alcohol. On the pine walls stood many severed heads of deer and hogs. They hung on the walls proudly as though they were prizes. The man that slouched behind the bar seemed the cause for those severed heads that ornamented the walls due to his stocky build, broad shoulders and that glint in his black eyes that warned those not to mess with him.

Being a compact space, the pub was busy. Filled with groups of rowdy men, drinking the week away. Those sat at the bar were the quiet ones; merely slumped on the uneven surface of the wooden counter over their beer, letting the froth create amusing patterns on their faces. Marcuse, from the shadow of the corner, scowled at the lot of them. Not in a million years would he of his calibre choose to come to a stupor like this but being the one place in a thousand miles with nearly decent warmth and shelter, he was forced to oblige.

He sat solemnly at the small, round table fastened to the corner. Not taking his hollow eyes off his fingers as they repeatedly dug themselves into the fine oak.

"I'm going to _murder_ that boy." Marcuse croaked at last.

His soldiers barely moved a muscle upon hearing these words.

Marcuse waited, seemingly courteously, for a group of drunken men nearby to finish belting out the last verse of their 'drinking song' before continuing.

"Curse the deceiving, curse the weak-minded. Curse the ill-formed," he spat. His soldiers looked up. "Gentleman, whereabouts do we have the pleasure of experiencing this amiable side of the human race?" he asked, mockingly.

"I saw a sign outside, my Lord. We're in Reim," spoke one broad-shouldered guard quickly.

Marcuse nodded slowly.

The tense atmosphere was disturbed by the barmen asking to take drink orders from them but Marcuse merely held up one lifeless hand and glared at him so he'd get the message to leave them alone. The Minister didn't utter a word as he watched the bartender shakily disperse.

"Such rude heathens," he jeered. "Now, I am willing to let this unnecessary diversion in course no longer be a bother to me if either one of my loyal men can tell me where we go from here."

Both guards did a sharp intake of breath.

"I'm waiting men," Marcuse courteously announced. "You don't want to end up like those poor deer and hogs, do you?" His voice was spine-chilling and never failed to give the soldiers Goosebumps.

There was silence once more from the two men sitting either side of the Minister.

"You and I both know that ruthless hunchback does not deserve the prize of life. And you also know...even if I don't find him, someone will still die."

Shivers coursed through each guard. They both swallowed hard but were still at a loss for words. They had no clue how to get from here to Paris.

With still not a word from either, the Minister resorted to a better bet. Though he hated to admit it, he needed both his soldiers, for finding food, shelter and a route. He couldn't kill them both. Not yet, anyway.

"Very well, gentleman. I hope you also know there will be a reward...a prize if you will...to the one who can locate the fiend, Quasimodo," the Minister eventually spoke, his pebble eyes darting from his hands to a short, middle-aged man with large ears and a beard who inexplicably began staggering up to their table, his beer spilling from his glass.

He abruptly launched a fist onto their table. Both guards jumped in alarm but Marcuse remained as statue-like as ever. He just glared at the drunken man. The man held his fist on the table for support since his stout legs were threatening to give way.

"Heeeeey," he hollered at the pokerfaced Minister. Both soldiers were shocked Marcuse hadn't done anything to the drunk yet. Back in Toulouse, there was never an excuse for the Minister to delay giving punishment to someone who was behaving improperly.

"I knoow whoo you'rrrre taaalkin' 'bout!" the man shouted, spitting beer onto the table. "That eeerrr...guy righ'?" he said, looking up and squinting his eyes.

"You have no business being here, peasant," Marcuse told the drunk calmly. "And it is rude to interfere in one's own business."

"...I...eerrrr."

"Especially when they have no clue as to the topic of that business. Go." continued the Minister.

"Naaa naaa hold on a sec, righ'," slurred the man, getting closer to Marcuse's stone face. He plunked his beer on the table, almost knocking it over. "It's...eerrr...this guy, righ'?" he slurred again as he closed his left eye, bent his knees and hunched over. "The 'unchback...righ'? The eeerrr... ugly one."

Marcuse's eyes grew from boredom to interest in a matter of seconds. Perhaps this drunk did know his prey after all. He leaned back and folded his arms. "You know him quite well, peasant?"

The man took a few moments to respond. "I gotsa frien-n-d in Paris who knows 'im. Heee's a...um...baker or summmin. Knows the errr...'unchback well so 'e says to me." The drunk looked on the verge of falling asleep.

"Where is he? How do I get to him?" Marcuse spat impatiently.

The drunk stopped for a moment as though in thought before grinning at the Minister. It didn't look like he would give Marcuse a straight answer. And Marcuse had the feeling this peasant knew what he wanted to know.

The guards watched as the inkling of a smile shaped the Minister's lips. Marcuse drifted his eyes about him as though what he was about to say had to be heard by no one else.

"Very well. Come with me." His words were so terse and succinct that the drunk barely had time to register what he'd said when Marcuse stood up civilly and began making his way to the back door of the inn. His guards followed instinctively as did the drunken man who stopped and went back to get his beer from the table. The drunk didn't see the sudden glisten in Marcuse's hollow eyes nor hear him whisper maliciously to his soldiers.

The door led the four men to the coldness of outside. It was the bit of the tavern that housed the used kegs and rubbish so a strong smell greeted their noses the minute they walked out. It was well into the night so only the brightness of the moon and stars were their source of light.

"My wife looks like tha' keg o'er there," announced the drunk, catching a broad arm of the guard nearest to him to steady himself. The guard shook him off as though he were shaking off an insect.

Marcuse was not one to waste time. He nodded once to the soldiers. They seemed to understand, as the minute they caught the nod they sprang into action, using their strength to push the drunk onto his knees. He was too drunk to fight back and only groaned when his beer flew out of his hand from the impact.

"Now, I feel we need to get a few things straight. Firstly..." Marcuse nodded to the guards again who punched the man hard in the large clump of dough that was his stomach. "...I am not one to be tried."

The drunk let out a groan from the power of the punch but merely chuckled after a while, giving the guards compliments on their accuracy and strength. The soldiers only tightened their grips on his shoulders in return.

"You are trying my patience. Let us just get to the point." Marcuse strolled closer to the man knelt on the cold ground until he was practically towering over him. "I know you know where the hunchback is. Now let's stop all this childish behaviour, shall we?"

"I know yoooou know that I knoooow yoou knooow that I knooow," sang the drunken man. His song was cut short, however, when another of Marcuse's nods initiated two more powerful punches from the two soldiers to his stomach.

"Stop. Testing. Me," Marcuse slowly hissed, bending down low enough for the drunken man to feel the Minister's cold breath on his skin.

But the drunk only grinned. Four more punches issued.

Marcuse could see the small beads of sweat beginning to break from the man's forehead. He was cracking.

"Oohhh 'rite," slurred the drunk at last. Marcuse was the one to grin now. "e's in Paris 'e is."

"Yes, but how do I get there?" The Minster growled.

"Innot farrr. I live neearr there, I go there for my brrr...ead. I like my bread." He saw Marcuse start to give the dreaded nod to his soldiers. His stomach was starting to throb from the pain and he didn't it to get any worse with yet more punches. "'ere," said the man hurriedly before the soldiers could lay another finger on him. He pulled out a yellowed, crumpled piece of parchment from his back pocket and held it out for Marcuse to see.

"What's this?" said the Minister disgustedly as though the man was holding out a tarantula.

"Tis a map innit. It's the way from 'ere to Paris. You 'ave to read it...err...backaawards cos it's only the...eerr...way from Pawis to 'ere. I use it when I wanna find my way frroom Paris to this eerr...place for the eeerrr best beer in... eerr town 'ite."

Marcuse snatched it from the man's hands and looked closer at it. "A direct route from this tavern to Paris?"

"Yesss ssssirrr. But it's reeeally a dirrrect route from Parrr...Parr...is to 'ere but I fink it will work the errr...same...way."

"It had better be, peasant. If I find out this route is wrong, trust me when I say I will find you and personally cut your head off with a Puukko." The Minister smirked at the drunk's blank expression. "A very small yet very painful knife," he explained, using a condescending tone.

The drunk gulped loudly and said no more as he watched Marcuse put the parchment in a pocket in his robes.

"How long will it take?" Marcuse asked.

The man curled his lip and wiggled his nose, seemingly mockingly, before replying, "few days, yeah...few...few days, yeah."

"Very well," the Minister replied before gliding to the door.

The soldiers released the man who collapsed on the floor and left him in the pool of beer that had seeped out of the broken glass. They followed Marcuse closely as he glided into the tavern, out the front entrance, onto his own black stallion and into the fog of the night.

**A.N:**

**Many apologies for the wait again but woooo new chapters are up!**

**And yeah, about the drunk speech, I admit it does look a little weird! I had no idea how you write 'drunk talk' but I hope it worked ok :-) **

**Muchas gracias for taking the time to read this story and my other ones :-D And, of course, a BIG thank you to ****Carina L ****again for all your awesome commitment and enthusiasm to my stories 3 Staaaay tuned folks!**


	20. Chapter 20- Awake

**Chapter 20- Awake**

Just the blackness of the inside of her eyelids greeted her when the faintest spec of consciousness started to make its way back. Though her senses were beginning to reignite, she felt numb. Like she had spent the last week wrapped in a cocoon of solid ice.

Her world was dark even now. But the smallest glow of light was just starting to reach her view. It was hazy but she could even get in touch with her hearing. Nothing met her ears just yet but the soft humming told her that something was about to.

She is now able to feel all her senses. Every single one, from touch to smell. The smell of timber was the first to reach her and it was this rich yet preserved smell that ignited her other senses, forming the path to full consciousness which could occur any moment now.

The agonizing feeling of tightness and tension that had engulfed her frail body for this past week had finally released its firm grip on her. She is free. She is awake.

Very slowly, she allowed the strength and feeling to come back to her eyelids. When she felt ready, she gently lifted them, letting in the first amount of light since that darkness had claimed her. The sensation of such brightness was too overpowering so she shut her delicate eyes again just to give them time to adjust. The second attempt was much better. She was able to appreciate the brightness of her surroundings and feel relief at being able to finally do so.

Her vision is slightly blurred but this doesn't hold her back from swivelling her head to all angles that her eyes can catch.

She had never seen anywhere like this place. It was confusing. Was there even anyone here? How did she get to a place like this? There were cobbled walls in all directions as well as cobbled ground that, once her ability to feel had reached her, was beginning to hurt her back. As her sense of taste came back to her once again, she began to notice there was a rich, sickeningly sweet flavour in her mouth. It had dried to her tongue so no matter how many times she tried to swallow the taste, it still clung firmly to the inside of her mouth.

_What is this?_

She blotted the question out her mind for a moment as she decided to sit up very slowly and carefully to release the painful pressure on her back. She tucked both hands behind her for support and gently used the little strength she had at that moment to lift her upper body up. She kept her hands behind her back on the ground for support. A soft sensation met her hands as she realised she was sitting on a pile of blankets. She absently brushed her fingers along its smooth grains, letting the instant feeling of comfort and protection surround her like a warm breeze. Material this soft and tender could only have been knitted with the upmost love and care. This then made her think. Souver. Her Father.

_Where are they? _

She let the last drops of dizziness slide off her before whipping her head to all directions in an attempt to find them. She tried to forget the jolts of pain issuing from her head as she looked for any signs of Souver and her Father. But all that could be seen were several objects that resembled wagons scattered in the distance, hidden slightly due to the dimmed lighting. Seeing these really made her question where on earth she was. She had never come across objects like these in all her 18 years.

The girl couldn't hold back a soft moan when another throb of pain had come. She brought her hand to the wound and was startled when she felt trickles of blood dried to what felt like a piece of thin material that had been tied around her head to conceal the wound. She didn't dare take the piece of material off in case the wound started bleeding again. She didn't know just yet how bad it was. But from the ever growing pain of it, she figured it would be pretty horrific.

Her eyes caught her arm as her hand went to her head to nurse the wound. It had been completely cleaned of the mud and dirt that she very faintly remembered she had always been covered in prior to now. Her eyes drifted to her body. She was completely clean. Never had she seen herself this clean before. But who had cleaned her? Strangers, perhaps? This was another thing that bothered the young woman; she couldn't remember how she came to be lying here unconscious in the first place. This was a terrifying thought. She had been robbed of all her recent memories.

She looked down to notice she was dressed in a thin, long light blue skirt that reached her calves and a grey chemise. She couldn't tell if these clothes were hers or someone else's. They were pretty enough, she thought, and, thankfully, very comfortable.

She was about to spend a few moments tending to her head to help the pain but upon noticing what was only inches next to her made her freeze. She had just spotted a figure lying huddled in a ball next to her blankets. She just stared at it, adding to the many questions floating ferociously in her mind. She studied the small movements it made as it breathed slowly. This confirmed this figure was a person but that only answered a 10th of her questions.

Perhaps this was some kind of guard that was put there to make sure she didn't escape. She didn't dare make a sound if this was the case. She left it to her eyes to work out the identity of this person. She knew it definitely wasn't Daryn or Souver having noticed how bulky this person appeared to be. In fact, the figure's shape alone was somewhat peculiar. She couldn't put together an actual form. It was just like moulding a lump of clay only, at that moment, the figure still remained just a lump of clay. She did, however, notice the peak of an arm that rested on the person's side. The sheer size of it was what scared her a little. Maybe this was a guard after all. She knew of them to be muscular and strong.

She shook her head and went back to leaning on her left elbow as she observed this intriguing stranger lying somewhat peacefully beside her.

The young woman had trouble making out a face since the person was facing away from her but she assumed they were male going by the sheer bulkiness of their frame. Eagerness suddenly overwhelmed her and she wanted to confirm the full identity of this person. Or at least see their face.

He seemed fast asleep so she very carefully, as to lessen the pain of her already throbbing head, released her weight from her left elbow and gingerly put all her weight on her hands and knees and crawled a few inches towards him.

Elise tucked a few strands of her thick, mahogany hair behind her ear before slowly crawling around the length of the slumbering figure. She winced when she heard a sudden sound coming from her left but she relaxed when she saw the noise was just a result of her knocking over a small, dark coloured bottle with her knee. She had missed it in the dimmed lighting. The presence of such a peculiar item was another thing that confused the girl but she didn't care enough to examine it closer. She had her mind set on something else.

She continued creeping over to the other side of the figure. The sudden coldness of the hard ground as she left the blanket sent a chill through her.

Once she had circled the sleeping person's navy blue shoes to the other side, she was able to see the brilliant redness of his hair. She wasn't expecting that. Even in such low lighting, it was fluorescent. It looked very soft as well. She edged closer towards him to notice his crimson hair had fallen over his face, completely concealing it from her view. This only made her more curious. She leaned towards him.

She really, really hoped he was sleeping now seeing how close she was to him, practically leaning right over him.

Her mahogany eyes darted to the person's forearms which were folded into one another to cushion his head. She tried to forget the mass of those arms and the fact that they appeared to be crafted of just pure muscle. She knew those arms could break her in two as easily as a toothpick so the thought of being so close to the owner of such power was very intimidating. Yet there was a certain gentleness that she picked up as she observed him more. It was from the way his body was positioned as he slept. The way he looked so calm and peaceful. She couldn't be sure but she thought she saw, under the fallen wisps of his hair, a small smile form in his lips. Though she couldn't see his face, he, nonetheless, seemed happy; content.

The calm feeling she felt as she watched him slid away when her eyes landed on the sleeping man's back. It was...unusual and very confusing to the young woman. She couldn't tell exactly what it was that seemed to have taken shape on his back. She didn't even know if it _was_ the person's back since it just looked so...weird and out of the ordinary. It could just be the dim lighting playing tricks on her but it appeared to be a growth of some sort. A large growth. It was even taller than the person's head. Elise noticed that this growth was putting strain on the person's shirt since it looked like the fabric, though visibly loosened, could rip any second.

Her ponderings stopped when she suddenly heard a soft sound. An unexpected smile reached her lips when she heard the softness of his breathing from under the wisps of his hair. The sounds were gentle, comforting, almost harmonious, and she couldn't help but pause for a few minutes to just kneel beside him and listen. All thoughts of this mysterious person being a guard or something similar immediately slipped her mind upon hearing the rhythmic, soothing sound. Those breaths didn't suggest someone malevolent or even someone following malevolent ways. Even with very little to go on, she could tell he was young. Those sounds definitely suggested youth.

A sharp stab from her head brought her back into action. She would not waste any more time in case this enigmatic person suddenly awoke. So, with her breath held, she supported her weight on her left arm, leant forward once again and, slowly and carefully, slid her finger and thumb on both sides of a large tuft of the fallen wisps of hair and flicked it back.

She gasped and drew back in utter shock and horror as his face was revealed to her.

**Eeek Eeek! **


	21. Chapter 21- know me

**Chapter 21- Know me**

A high-pitched, almost ear-piercing scream awoke the bell ringer with a start.

His eyes opened at once to the sight of a young woman hastily crawling away from him, one skinny hand pressed against her mouth in sheer horror. He bolted up immediately. For a second he didn't know where he was. But with another alarmed glance at the girl cowering away from him, he eventually understood. Had he actually fallen asleep here?

He sat up and instantly brought both hands to cover his face (he had done this so many times now). He felt the stings of the horrified stares of the girl even with his glance to the ground. She seemed paralysed with fear since he heard no sound of movement from her. He winced when he heard her soft gasps of fright and terror.

He wanted to say something to her. He knew who it was hastily trying to get away from him and was over the moon that she was finally awake- his medicine had worked. But that emotion had to be well concealed for now. This definitely wasn't how he had planned to meet her properly. He was devastated at himself for allowing his face to be one of the first sights she saw after waking. Her beauty should never have to be shamed by the disgraceful, deformed visage of his face nor the hideousness of his body.

There was a tangible and very uncomfortable silence between the two youths before the unmistakable sound of many pairs of feet greeted their ears, growing louder and louder. Swarms of gypsies suddenly materialised and spilled from all directions of the camp. They must have heard her scream.

Gasps and anxious murmurs followed almost instantly once they spotted the two. They were all in their bed clothes since it was still in the early hours so a few were shivering with the cold that couldn't be kept away by the thin material of their clothing. They formed a tight circle around the area that held Quasimodo and the shaking Elise, gathered around them like they were watching street entertainers; curious and eager. The children that managed to peek their way from their parent's legs looked excited, knowing whatever it was, it would be entertaining.

Quasimodo slowly brought his large hands from his face to catch the stares from all around him. He felt like he was being interrogated. Like he had committed some sort of crime and this was his punishment. Humiliation was the most prominent of the emotions coursing through him.

He made out Clopin in the swarm due to his height and Esmeralda was pretty hard to miss from her luminous green eyes peeking through the gaps in the mass. They both wore the same alarmed expression which made the bell ringer's stomach tighten even more. He could just make out Esmeralda giving him a smile of comfort which you'd expect would help but at that point, nothing could loosen the chains that tightened around him.

He was outnumbered. There were a few of those faces which showed compassion and understanding of the truth. They knew the bell ringer well and knew he would never so much as hurt a fly. They understood the cry of the young woman wasn't because he had harmed her. Although the many other faces whose exteriors were painted with expressions of disappointment and almost hate at him seemed to believe that he _had_ harmed her.

Quasimodo could see why the people surrounding him believed Elise's high-pitched scream was because he had tried to hurt her. The image of Elise-malnourished, frail from lack of water and pale from fright- cowering from Quasimodo- monstrous in appearance and as bulky and colossal as can be despite his small size-did not do his case justice.

But he had done nothing wrong and this was merely a misunderstanding but the fear and terror of those faces glaring down at him muted his ability to protest his innocence. So he remained silent and surrendered to those glares around him. He was disappointed at the ones who glowered at him. They know him well yet they choose to believe their eyes and not their heart. Quasimodo had spent his entire life proving that the eyes are often the most deceiving.

He spotted Jocelyna amidst the ranks and relief wrapped around him like the warm, soft turquoise blankets she made for him. He watched her edge to the front. He saw her eyes, wide with questions. They drifted to the shaking young woman behind Quasimodo, curled up in a ball on her blankets.

"You're awake," Quasimodo heard her whisper. Elise didn't respond.

She then extended her arm to her son, an offering to help him up. He slowly engulfed her petite hand in his own and stood up. He felt the warmth again when she pulled him into an embrace. The entire camp didn't dare utter a word as Jocelyna stroked his hair. He didn't look back to Elise when Jocelyna had eventually released him. He didn't want to be met with that all too familiar expression of fright and horror.

The stone cold silence was abruptly cut short with the sound of cries from the crowd.

"ELISE! Oh my God...I can't believe it...ELISE!" Daryn cried as he barged his way to the front of the crowd of concerned and thrilled gypsies. He knelt down immediately in front of his daughter and wasted no time in pulling her towards him. The act was all too sudden for Elise, as she kept her hands where they were, still frozen.

Quasimodo watched as Souver suddenly appeared from the crowd, rubbing his eyes in tiredness before allowing the sight in front to greet him. His eyes widened with pure glee when he saw his sister.

"Elise..." he whispered, walking slowly towards the blankets where Daryn knelt, cradling his daughter as if she were a baby. The boy's slow pace suggested to the bell ringer that he thought he might still be dreaming and every step would near the path to waking up. The crowd watched eagerly as Souver knelt down by his Father. The boy didn't utter a word but the one kiss on his sister's arm and simple stroke of her hair said more than words ever could at that point. He was beyond ecstatic but the shock still rendered him impassive.

Quasimodo felt as Jocelyna gently patted his uneven back. This pat was one that Jocelyna did when she was very proud of him. He suspected she knew Elise was awake because of him but 'how' was the fundamental question.

The crowd watched as Daryn inaudibly said something to Elise. Though the look of terror still dawned her face, it was clear the memory of Daryn and Souver had come back to her since the sight of relief was depicted through the faintest of smiles. Her arms clung to Daryn as he continued to rock her.

There was another inaudible sentence from Daryn as he brushed her pale cheek with the back of his hand followed by the very first words to escape the young woman's lips since entering that world of darkness and tension. Six short, simple words; "just get me out of here."

The man nodded in determination before slowly getting to his feet, taking hold of Elise's hand to steady her onto her feet. The sensation of standing was weird for the girl and it took her a few minutes of just standing there to finally regain the ability to walk.

Souver slid one tiny hand through his sister's as Daryn led Elise from the eyes of the crowd. Before clearing the way out the crowd, the man halted next to where Quasimodo stood, distressed, and glared at him.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before you tried to hurt my daughter," he hissed in the bell ringer's face.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Daryn!" Jocelyna spat back, replicating the man's cold look. She heard the excited murmurs from the crowd at the possibility of entertainment. She wasn't going to cause a drama here. She knew Elise needed to get away from their gazes.

Daryn gave one more shooting glare at Quasimodo before departing the scene.

The audience almost immediately dispersed once the chance of anymore drama happening became more and more unlikely. Some even stopped to pass their own scowls at the confused and shaken bell ringer before strolling back to bed.

In a few short seconds, it was as though nothing had happened. There was no longer a sleeping angel on those blankets. The only memory of the traumatizing events of the week was the ghostly sickly sweet scent that gracefully oozed from the gaps in the lid of the fallen medicine bottle.

Quasimodo and Jocelyna were the only ones remaining.

"I just..." Quasimodo began, fixing his eyes on the empty blankets in front of him.

"I know," Jocelyna replied. Though simple, her knowing words were every ounce truthful and honest. She really did know it was Quasimodo Daryn needed to thank for his daughter's life. She knew her son well. She knew he would rather die than sit back and watch a person in distress. She knew it was only a matter of time before he would do something to save Elise. This reminded her of that morning of her sentence. He had done more than save her life that day.

"I think everyone just thought the scream meant she had been harmed and, with me being the only one there, I seemed the one to blame for it." His eyes were miserable and troubled.

"Of course you didn't harm her," she gently told him. "I know it was you who helped her, Rhayeder, and everyone knows it. They know you. And Daryn will too."

Quasimodo nodded but he remained unconvinced. Jocelyna had always been so sure of things and it sometimes bothered him.

The past few minutes felt like such a blur. It had all happened so quickly. One minute she was lying, unmoving, on the floor and the next minute crowds swarmed the space. And then she was gone.

He looked up at her questioningly. "But...how?"

She smiled at him. "Just...give him time. He's not a bad man. Just a wounded one."

Quasimodo sighed bitterly before accepting Jocelyna's offer to catch the last few hours of sleep. He took one last miserable look at the blankets and sighed once more, dreading to think what the morning would have to offer.

**Poor Quasi. He doesn't get it easy does he :( **

**Please R&R! It means a lot.**


	22. Chapter 22- The smallest of things

**Chapter 22- The smallest of things**

The beginning of May was one of Quasimodo's favourite times of the year. It was still Spring- his favourite season- but the smallest hint of summer just begins to trickle into the city. It's the first day of his favourite month. The flowers have all blossomed so they sway their delicate petals in the warm breeze, creating an array of pleasant summer scents that carry even into the Court of Miracles itself.

Quasimodo often notices how the mood in the camp lightens considerably when the day is warm, the sun is out and the flowers are fresh and full of beautiful scents that float into the camp. Everyone is more than willing to do their daily chores, even the children who are usually coming up with a variety of excuses every time they are asked.

But that cheery mood that swept through The Court of Miracles like the warm, spring breeze had evaporated. The stirring event with the bell ringer and the young woman that happened just a few days ago had created a tense and gloomy atmosphere.

The bell ringer made his way to breakfast, trying to appear calm and collective despite the glares from some as he passed them by. But with every one of these glares that were shot at him, he told himself it was all due to a simple misunderstanding. This had been going on every morning since that horrible night a few days ago.

That night, (well, in the very early hours of the morning, really) was still a blur to him. Everything had happened so quickly. And the rollercoaster of emotions that ran through him was nearly enough to drive one to insanity. But, that didn't matter to the bell ringer. All those faces glaring at him, believing from her scream that he'd hurt her somehow don't matter. The only thing that mattered to him is that Elise is alive.

"Didn't sleep very well, huh?" said Clopin as Quasimodo sat down at the long and crowded breakfast table. He smiled at Esmeralda, Clopin and Jocelyna but didn't make eye contact with them once. "Um...well, not particularly..." the bell ringer replied.

"The circles under your eyes," announced Clopin, answering Quasimodo's silent question.

Quasimodo traced the outline of his uneven eyes with his fingers and nodded in acknowledgment. True, he hadn't slept a wink in what seemed to be ages. It was unsurprising.

There was a rather uncomfortable silence. Quasimodo could tell all three, mostly Clopin, wanted to bring up the event of that night but were restraining.

"So, what's everyone have planned today, then?" enquired Esmeralda in an attempt to lift the mood, her brilliant, emerald orbs flashing to one another. This was much to Quasimodo's gratefulness since it wasn't directly addressed at him so it gave the others a chance to answer. He wasn't in a mood to talk.

"I'm out with the boys, again," replied Clopin smugly. "You know, hunting." He lifted his chin up proudly.

"Clopin, you haven't caught a single thing yet. Why they still let you come with them I will never know," retorted Jocelyna. Clopin merely muttered something about catching a rabbit before getting back to his pineapple.

Quasimodo saw Esmeralda's luminous green eyes flash towards him.

"No breakfast?" she said, glancing at the empty space on the table in front of him.

"I'm not very hungry," Quasimodo replied in his usual quiet, soft tone. He felt Jocelyna's concerned expression upon him as he tapped his thumbs together awkwardly. A plate of food would have actually been perfect at that moment, just so he could have something to distract him from those scowls that still haunted his tired mind. Instead, he just smiled and contributed to the conversation as much as he could; making sure his pain wasn't noticeable.

Once the dishes for breakfast had been cleared, and Clopin had finished convincing Esmeralda that he had in fact caught a rabbit once (complete with detailed hand gestures), Jocelyna took Rhayeder to the fountain to have a quiet word with him. Seeing his distress was just unbearable.

Three gypsy men instantly shot up from their seats on the fountain's stone edging and sauntered off upon seeing the misshapen arrival coming towards them so Jocelyna and Quasimodo were able to talk in private.

"Look," she gently spoke, sitting down with Quasimodo on the fountain's cold, stone edging. "Please...just talk to me."

This was startling to the young bell ringer. He immediately looked up, his confused eyes meeting with her soft, delicate ones. But he had to admit it; he'd cut himself off from her recently. It was understandable not to want to talk to a fellow camp resident or even a close friend about his troubles but not talking to his own mother about it seemed almost unforgivable on his part. There goes another one to add to the large pile of his emotions; guilt.

"I...I-I," he stammered, wringing his hands as he always did when he became nervous.

"Please," she said again. "You haven't been yourself ever since it happened," she gently told him. True, for the past few days, the bell ringer had confined himself to the small wagon that was his sleeping area only going out for the occasional meal or the odd walk. But even when he did go out, his speech was limited and he would never make eye contact when he spoke. Breakfast that morning was a serious improvement of how he'd been acting during the other meals. Jocelyna noted how this phase had brought the old bell ringer back; the very shy, nervous boy with incredibly low self-esteem who would cower when touched or even spoken to.

The bell ringer spoke quietly. "I...I'm sorry," he muttered timidly. "It really isn't important. I-It's just...I don't actually know why I'm feeling like this." Jocelyna's stomach tightened from the pain so evident in her son's voice. "I-I mean...why do I care?" His voice was growing stronger.

Jocelyna knew what this was really about. She knew those stares and scowls from the accusers a few nights ago wouldn't matter. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was used to being glared at.

He lowered his head. "I never even said one word to her a-and...and when we finally met..." His voice softened once again. "I terrified her." Hi voice was barely a whisper. "I knew I would scare her but...for some reason I-I thought she just m-might already know me...a-and wouldn't be... scared."

Jocelyna sighed. Feeling every ounce of her son's pain and having absolutely no idea what to say to him.

He creased his eyebrows. "I've brought this all on myself. It was my fault for making up this...this _fantasy_. I don't know why I acted so _stupidly_." He squeezed his hands into fits in frustration. "That would have never happened if I'd just listened to Daryn and left Elise alone. But instead I just had to make _everything_ worse." His eyes gradually began to soften. "Daryn was right. Being around Elise _did_ cause more stress to his family. I mean...just look what I've done."

She placed both her hands around Quasimodo's own and gently stroked her thumb along their rough surfaces. Like the hug of comfort she gave on the night of Elise's awakening, she hoped that simple gesture told him everything her frozen speech couldn't.

Quasimodo gently squeezed her own delicate hands as a thank you. He smiled at her, never once forgetting just how much she really did care for him.

"Talk to her," spoke the gypsy woman, looking into his teary blue-green eyes. It seemed so simple but, like an iceberg, a great, great mass lay beneath the surface of those simple words. She couldn't suppress a smile at the sight of Quasimodo's absolutely petrified expression.

"Listen," she said through a chuckle as she adjusted her seating position. "It really isn't all that bad, Rhayeder. Not as bad as you think, anyway. I admit I'm not an expert at this sort of thing and it doesn't help there being not much to go on what sort of a person Elise is yet but you owe her so much. And even if she's the most heartless person on or the most wonderful, she will realise that. Already you've been pretty incredible to her and you haven't even said two words to each other. That's got to mean _something_. I'd be more than grateful and appreciative to the person who did for me what you did for her, no matter who that person may be."

Jocelyna did always know the right things to say to him, thought the bell ringer. The gypsy woman could tell her words were getting through to him.

"But I didn't do much," he mumbled, almost to himself.

"Right," she began in a playful tone. "So, even when they were complete strangers to you and when you hadn't even met them for two seconds you wanted to help them out. And though Daryn always belittled you, you never broke or lost the determination to do what you could to help him and save his daughter. You took the effort to actually buy the medicine yourself and judging by the label I read when I picked it up while I was clearing away Elise's blankets, it didn't look like the sort of medicine that came cheap. And when you treated Elise with the medicine in the middle of the night, you risked Daryn yelling at you or maybe even doing more to you. You risked your own wellbeing to save hers. And there was nothing for you yourself to gain for doing all this. It was all completely selfless." She smirked playfully, "yeah, you didn't do much."

Quasimodo furrowed his thick eyebrows as Jocelyna's words swam around in his head. He gave her a small nod to show he understood her words. But it was the simple, innocent smile that told Jocelyna he had decided to finally talk to Elise.

**Sorry for yet another wait for a new chapter but here it finally is! :-D **


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